


Sugar on Top

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Honey Honey [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cooking, Hand Jobs, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Mentions of FWB, Mentions of past suicidal thoughts, Multiple Orgasms, Relationship Discussions, Sex shopping, Sexual Fantasy, Switching, mentions of past relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-01 13:39:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15144269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: “Come here,” he says, and James actually does yelp as Steve lifts him this time.Steve is a lot stronger than he looks, and he looks pretty damned strong.“Okay!” James says, but he's laughing, and Steve puts him back down so that James can get up of his own accord. “Am I paying you enough attention now?” he says, and Steve just looks at him.“I'd like for you to be paying me more,” he says, and James picks up the remote and turns off the TV.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So! Here we are at Steve's! I can't believe it's taken over 100k to get to Steve's place. I mean, let's be honest, I can't believe this thing is over 100k. I've got no plans to slow down, but thanks for your support so far. Is there a slow-plot-burn tag?
> 
> Also **HAPPY 100th BIRTHDAY TO MCU STEVE ROGERS! Don't he look good for his age?**

James just about dies when the elevator door opens.

He's expecting Steve inside, of course he is, but he's not expecting Steve to be in custom leathers, leaning casual as you like against the rail, legs crossed at the ankle, one motorcycle helmet dangling from his hand. He's all in black, aside from a couple of accents at his elbows, and right over his biceps. But the thing is, James has a thing for the uniform, of course he does. But this? This is like the uniform's been recreated entirely in black – if Steve were to stand twenty feet away, James might mistake it for an ordinary jacket. This close, the whole ensemble reads like an in-joke.

“I got a blue one for hidin' in plain sight,” Steve says, noticing James' reaction, and James steps onto the elevator. "Looks like my stage costume from the forties. Nobody thinks I'd be seen dead in it, so nobody thinks it's me."

Steve hands him the helmet as the doors close behind him, and James doesn't look at it just yet – Steve did have to go back out to China on Wednesday, which means James has only spoken to him by cellphone since then. So he stands on his toes, and Steve leans down and kisses him, and James doesn't even brain either of them with the helmet, either!

“I missed you,” Steve says, and James can't help the surprise on his face – knows he hasn't because of the way Steve huffs a laugh. “I know it's only been three days-”

“Me too!” James says, the way you might say it if someone met you in another country and told you they were from the same neighborhood. 

So what if it's only been three days?

“Well that's very sweet of you,” Steve answers, which is...an interesting way to put it, and lets him go.

James looks at his helmet. It says _J.B.B_ at the top left, just above the visor. It looks like if the helmet raised one eyebrow.

“This is _mine?_ ” he says, incredulous.

“Yep,” Steve answers. “If you like it, we can talk about customizing it later; see how you feel. I could do with you wearing a backpack home, though, if that's all right – you still okay on the bike?”

James nods, bemused.

“Yeah?” he says. “Yeah, that's fine, I was okay last time,” and it'll be better this time – he won't feel as strange about snuggling up against Steve's back, won't feel as weird about splaying his legs either side of Steve.

“Good,” Steve says, and the doors open on the garage.

Steve's bike is a Street 750 because he doesn't fuck around, and it's a fucking sexy bike, navy blue in pretty places, of _course,_ and customized more in others, too. Buttons James doesn't recognize, a couple of switches, but then there's the other stuff, like the mirrors, which aren't the standard mirrors, which means Steve's bought new ones. And like the stylized cap wings on either side of the bike, on the side panels. James had wings like that on a bright blue beanie hat when he was a kid. He had a patch for his jacket, too, when he was very small. In fact, Steve's motorcycle helmet has the wings, James notes, but they're black, cutout, the vents have been made to look like them. 

He's like ninja Cap in the whole getup, and it takes James a minute to realize Steve's holding something out to him.

Kneepads.

James puts them on, not at all surprised that they're a great fit, and Steve hands him gloves next, and then a leather jacket and...

He kind of wishes the jacket had the insignia, but then again he hasn't earned it. He'd feel like shit about wearing those wings on his arms without having earned them.

“How'd you even know all my sizes?” James says, and Steve tilts his head. 

“Jarvis,” he answers. “He knows all our sizes. I ask him to find certain things and make sure they'll fit you. Is....I mean, that's not weird, right? I mean, it _is_ weird-”

“It's okay,” James says and, wow, Steve is...nervous? 

Surely not.

“Everything fit okay?” he asks and...yeah, maybe he is.

James was already 'briefed' this morning by text – he bought a lunch that had recyclable wrappers instead of bringing tupperware, left his usual bag at his own apartment this morning and only brought a little one, and he's already wearing his big heavy boots today. Steve passes him gloves, too and, all done up like this, it really feels like he's ready for something big.

“Yeah,” he says. “This is great.”

Steve grins.

“Alright,” he says, and he hands James a hardshell backpack. “Stick your gear in that and we'll get moving.”

James does because he's only got his phone and his small bag to deal with. He sees that Steve has packed a bag of toiletries and his laptop in the bag already, so there's plenty of room for James' overnight bag. James puts the backpack on when he's done, pulls on the gloves, and Steve is already swinging his leg over the bike as James approaches.

Steve's visor is up and, where James' helmet has a nice serifed _J.B.B_ in something thin and delicate, Steve's says _ROGERS_ in neat sans serif, blocky and visible.

 _“Ready?”_ Steve asks as James settles onto the bike, and James startles as Steve's voice speaks directly into his ear. 

_Inter-helmet communication? Come on, how does this keep on getting cooler?_

James gets onto the bike behind him, wraps his body around Steve. “Ready,” he says.

Steve nods, starts her up, and then they're off.

Steve is, and James is surprised although he really shouldn't be, a really good motorcyclist in traffic. He's an assertive driver but a conscientious one. He doesn't nip in and out of lanes, doesn't hop the kerb or drive along lines of traffic. Where he is is where he is, and he moves and stops with the rest of New York. (Mostly. Come on, a bike like that? Moving into gaps in traffic is just standard procedure.)

There was a public thing about it a while ago, about how licensing and emergency classification allowed Avengers On Duty to technically be classed as emergency response services. It included a bit about how Steve Rogers On Duty technically rides an emergency response vehicle (and, subsequently everybody should get out of the way). Now, he even gets four blue flashing rectangles between the bike's headlights and a hi-lo siren, which James has only seen and heard on the news.

But Steve Rogers off-duty is a New York citizen and the kind of guy who stops at crosswalks and doesn't peel out when he can move off at a reasonable speed. 

_“Had her since I was reanimated. One day,”_ Steve says, his voice a little tinny through the speaker, _“once you've got proper gear, we'll go out to a place I know, and I'll show you how good we really are.”_

James smiles. Not only would that be _awesome_ if they get that far, but it's pretty awesome to hear Steve talk about it like he hopes it will.

“Is it far enough away that you can put on your lights and your siren?” he says.

He hears Steve laugh, low and rich and deep.

 _“I'm sure I could swing that,”_ he says.

But James becomes aware, as they go along, that they're getting deeper and deeper into Brooklyn. In fact, they get all the way to Brooklyn Heights and, if he twists his head just so, he can see flashes of the bridge between buildings but they keep going, past old brick and stone, past grass and paving, and then Steve's slowing right down near a warehouse so much at the southern end of Brooklyn Heights that they're almost into Cobble Hill.

James frowns inside the helmet, and they're going slow enough now that he can lift his head and look around. They're...past residential areas, actually, and there are a couple of warehouses on their left that look out over the water. 

_“Trust me,”_ Steve says, checks his mirrors, and then they're veering off the road and down an alleyway between two of the warehouses, and then suddenly there's a brick wall right ahead of them and Steve isn't slowing down and-

“Steve!” James yelps-

-then they're descending a smooth ramp lined with bright spot LEDs, in cool semi-darkness, the sound of the Harley's engine echoing back at them, and Steve's bringing the bike to a long, slow stop in the middle of an underground parking lot that's like....fucking huge.

“What?” James says, heart beating like a billion to the dozen because what happened to that brick wall they were about to hit?

Steve deftly dismounts without dislodging James, and pulls his helmet off his head. He looks even sexier now, with the helmet tucked under his arm as he runs his other gloved hand through his hair, messing it up even more despite the already-helmet-hair he had. 

He looks exhilarated, pleased and anticipatory all at once. 

“What the hell?” James says, and Steve smiles, a little breathless.

“Hologram,” he says, “and intuitive tracking linked to a secure entryway. It knows I'm coming so it opens the door behind the 'wall' hologram. Lets me in but nobody else. Neat, huh?”

“What happens if it doesn't work?” James asks, incredulous.

Steve rolls one shoulder in a shrug.

“Bike cuts out unless it receives the go-ahead. It's safe, I promise.”

James looks at him for a moment longer and then gets off the bike, pulling his helmet off. His helmet hair's probably worse but who cares? He looks around the place – half-lit concrete and little else besides-

Holy fuck, what the hell is _that_!? It looks halfway between a Shelby Cobra and an F-Type Jaguar, and it's shiny black and convertible.

“I know,” Steve says, obviously seeing him looking, but walking straight past. “That's what a hundredth-birthday present looks like from Tony Stark. Come on, you can ogle the car later.”

James is a little reluctant to leave because holy fuck that's a goddamn work of _art_. When Steve passes, lights come on over his head and James sees that the car isn't black at all, it's midnight blue pearl. Black until the light hits it, and then a gorgeous chromatic, sparkling cobalt. The surface, too, is like _glass_ – James has only ever seen a shine like that in photographs and magazines or, at most, on car commercials. 

“It's amazing,” James says.

“She is,” Steve answers. “She'll hit two hundred miles an hour without breaking a sweat and her standing quarter mile is under ten seconds. Plus there are the usual Stark accoutrements. She's got cupholders and everything.”

Not that James would take any kind of beverage in a car like that.

James doesn't touch as he passes, although he'd really like to lie on top of it and live there for the rest of his life. He's got no idea how it's shiny enough to reflect Steve's actual upper body across the sleek bonnet, but he's not about to sully that with his stupid mortal fingerprints.

“We can get in it later, if you want,” Steve says, “do a turn around the garage. I got nowhere to drive her right now, I'm not gonna do two-fifty down Flatbush avenue, but she sounds...” he closes his eyes, shakes his head. “Mmh,” he says, and then he looks at James. “She sounds incredible.”

“I mean, if you give me a set of sterile scrubs first,” James says, but he's kidding, as much as he feels it ought to be necessary. He'll come down here in his underwear to make sure he's got nothing on that can scratch the paintwork if Steve wants, but there's no way he's turning down the opportunity to sit in those seats. And then he notices something.

“Does...” James says because those are red leather seats but are those seatbelts...white?

“Tony Stark is a super-genius who can be bitingly witty and acerbically cutting,” Steve answers, and James can _hear_ the eyeroll, “but he still thinks gettin' me shit in red, white and blue is funny.”

“I mean it does look fucking gorgeous,” James says. 

“How nice that you have something in common,” Steve answers, “worry about the car later, come with me and I'll give you the tour. Then we can get aroused by motor vehicles later. Okay?”

James snorts but he knows Steve isn't really kidding because ohhhh wow that car. He thought the _bike_ was hot, _damn_. 

When he tears himself away from the car, ( _I'll see you again, my love,_ ) Steve's waiting patiently by a pair of steel doors, with a small smile on his face. At least, the doors _look_ like steel, who knows at this point? He waits for James to get to him, and then he waves a hand at the doors, and they open.

There's another ramp, which isn't wide enough for a car. This one's clearly for just people, and they walk up it, to another set of doors, which open to show James...

_Wow._

“Uh,” James says.

The place is big, to put it mildly – the whole warehouse has maybe been converted, but this portion of it is all exposed brick and timber, glass and earth-tones, hardwood flooring, wrought iron lighting bars with individual lamps all along them, slatted blinds, potted plants, throw rugs and two living areas? Wow. This is something out of a magazine, and James goes and stands in the middle of the room. It's cozy even though James doesn't think he's ever seen this much space in Brooklyn his entire life.

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says. “But it's home.”

What the hell, is Steve insane?

When twists to look back at Steve, kind of in awe of the whole thing, Steve is standing by a big mirror – which James assumes is a cover for the doors they just came through – watching him, shoulders hunched in, his expression a little pinched.

“This place is amazing,” James tells him, and Steve seems to ease a little.

“Oh,” he says. “Well, thank you, I've spent a long time on it,” and then he sticks out his elbow. “Shall we?”

James grins, comes over and loops his arm through Steve's, and Steve tugs him back toward the front of the apartment. The...floor- warehouse? The place. James doesn't know how many other people have had the tour but the place has....gaps? Double seats and half-empty bookcases, symmetry that's unsymmetrical – does that make sense? There's space for another person here, if Steve wants one here. James thinks there might already have been one, once.

“There's so many windows,” James says instead. “Do people know you live here?”

“If you're worried about sightlines,” Steve tells him, “all the windows are dark mirrored, makes it look like the building's empty. And no, not usually. I've never had anyone unwanted show up on the doorstep, anyhow. This,” and he stands them over by what looks to be a suite of stone-colored furniture arranged around a low coffee table and in front of a giant flat-screen TV, “is the TV room.”

It's sectioned off by the fact that all the furniture's on a big beige herringbone rug. There's a TV cabinet and a couple little tables with small lamps, a plant, and some pictures on the otherwise full bookcase, done maybe in pencil or charcoal. One's of a young blonde woman, one is of a young brunette woman, one...

One is a picture of a young man who looks the way James might in ten years, and suddenly James knows who these are and where they came from.

“You drew those,” he says, and Steve nods.

“I did,” he says. “Painted that one over by the three-seater, too.”

'That one' is a massive oil painting of the Manhattan skyline as seen from Vinegar Hill. Except...It's recognizable to James immediately because of Brooklyn bridge, but he slowly becomes aware that it's not his New York. It's not as chock full, not as tall, isn't as gaudy. There are older boats, and the tone of the painting is overall closer to sepia.

“I know it's not Constable-”

“It's beautiful,” James says, shaking his head. “Is that how you remember it?”

“Well...as far as my skill level, that's near enough how it was,” Steve answers. “My memory's not photographic but it's close enough. It certainly looks right to me - I never saw it in color.”

James' jaw drops. So it's painted almost sepia not because Steve remembers the old New York and lives in the new, not because he wants it to be seen as something from his past, but because that's literally how he remembers it.

“I forgot you were colorbind,” James murmurs.

“Mhm, most people do. Most people forget a lot more than you, actually. Still, first thing red I ever saw was Peggy's lipstick,” he answers, his voice very far away, “and then how pink skin was.” 

His smile fades and James isn't sure but thinks he knows why. He knows what else is red, and what else Steve saw just after getting the serum.

“So that's how I saw it, anyhow. Uh, that space is for things that need space,” Steve says, pointing to the area next to the TV section, of about the same size, that's mainly bare hardwood floor. There's a treadmill by the window, some weights by another bookcase in the corner. Another couple of landscape paintings of places that look – and might be – European, but in color this time. “I know it doesn't really fit in with the...I mean I know it's not exactly something that all ties together but it's good enough for me.”

“You don't have to apologize for it,” James tells him, and Steve seems...not quite relieved about it but something close to it. “This is where you live, this is your home. Have it how you want it.”

Steve doesn't usually apologize for everything. It's weird but, James supposes, if James is nervous to be here then it stands to reason Steve could be nervous to show him.

“This,” Steve says, turning them both, and he takes them across to another rug-sectioned place, “is better for reading.” 

It's similar to the TV area except that the rug is a thicker nap and the table is a giant pouf instead. There are a couple of comfy-looking recliners, and more lighting, plus it's close to the windows. Above the couch are some wall-mounted shelves with more books (and gaps), and there are books in the stands either side of the couch, on which the complicated table lamps sit. There's a fireplace set into the wall, too, above which is a framed, faded poster that James has only seen in textbooks.

It's hand-painted and, in the image, Steve, as he was maybe fifteen years ago, wears an ill-fitting Captain America costume and a wry grin, original shield tucked into his left side and his right hand extended, pointing at the viewer.

**I WANT YOU**  
_to_ **BUY**..............  
**WAR BONDS NOW**

It's signed by him. It actually says

_ 'Captain America' _

on it in big loopy cursive, and there are places where the paper's worn through – one of which is in the middle of the signature. And, right below the signature, in different writing but writing just as old, it says,

_'is a putz. -B'_

No prizes who wrote it.

Below the frame is a little gold plaque affixed to the brickwork, maybe two inches by an inch.

' **H OWARD**'

James swallows the lump in his throat. It's not his place to get maudlin about it.

“Oh that thing,” Steve says, but James shakes his head, looks down and swallows hard.

“No, I get it,” he says. “I get it.”

There's wall lighting here, too – big things that cast big triangles of light up and down the wall, and a couple more pictures. Another bookcase that's got a little lamp in one of the shelves to brighten it up. 

The pictures are Steve's friends, so it would seem – he recognizes some of the Avengers, doesn't recognize others. No, wait, he recognizes _some_ \- James Montgomery Falsworth, Gabriel Jones, James Morita, Timothy Dugan. Another of Bucky Barnes. 

There's one of Bucky on the small table next to the couch, too, and James...

James wonders for a moment if he feels jealous, but he doesn't. He can't. He could no more feel jealous of Bucky Barnes than he could of Peggy Carter. Steve lives surrounded by his friends, but the ghosts don't haunt him any more. 

“Bar,” Steve tells him, pointing, and yeah, okay, he's got a bar, _damn_. 

It's more like an island or a protruding countertop, but there's space for him to walk behind it, and James can see bottles and things hiding down behind there. 

“Kitchen,” Steve says, turning, and James sees a whole kitchen tucked into the corner, all white and wood and chrome.

It's got everything the kitchen at the tower does except a breakfast island, and there's a table for six, too, right there on the hardwood floor. 

“Through that door's the spare room and the downstairs bathroom,” Steve says, “and then on the other side there's my office, and then a studio.”

“A studio?” James says. 

Steve nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “That's where I paint.”

Oh _right_ , duh – James thought for a second Steve might be trying to snag a record label. He can't decide if he wants that or not. Steve crooning? Hell yeah! Maybe not trying Brooklyn rap on for size but still-

Oh, he could synchronize-choreography with the rest of the Avengers! 

“Want to go upstairs?” 

James blinks at him. Up- oh!

“Yeah!” he says.

Steve smiles. The stairway spills out across the floor at the bottom, and Steve has various shield replicas mounted on the way up the stairs, but they climb the stairs slowly, James with one hand on the wrought iron rail, looking at the apartment as he slowly gets a mostly birds-eye view.

He's so distracted by looking down at all the light and brick and wood (douglas fir, Steve says at one point) that he doesn't realize he's upstairs until Steve is stopping them both and then...

The 'balcony' that serves as the upper floor is at least half as big as the whole downstairs again. It sticks out just over the kitchen, but goes all the way back over the office, studio and spare bed and bath on the ground floor.

God there's even a living room up here. Sectioned off just like downstairs, it has more couches, a coffee table, there's a desk and another TV in the corner, a stand with a record player, bookshelves with books and all kinds of other things – a canteen, an old green helmet...they must be Steve's things, from before. 

And then, sectioned off by a big white wall is a...

James walks around the wall because this, this should tell him everything. The room is huge, the bed is fucking enormous, and there's way more color in here than his bedroom in the tower. Sure the walls and carpet are white, but there's wood in here and another plant, some lamps. The bed has a trunk at the end of it, a nightstand either side of it and windows covered by white Roman shades at the head of it. There's built-in closet space by the looks of things, and a cheval glass as big as Steve near the closet doors, and instead of a final wall – just like the living area – it just has the waist-high balcony wall with its chrome rail instead. 

Also, the bed is not made. James notices this just as Steve shows up next to him.

“Oop, shit,” he mutters, and James laughs as Steve moves past to strip the bed. “Sorry, I completely forgot about it.”

James shakes his head.

“You don't need to be sorry,” he says.

“Usually I make it,” Steve tells him anyway. “Army kind of drums that into you, but I got distracted the morning I last left and then I...” He gives James an apologetic smile. “I haven't been back here for a while.”

“It's okay?” he says again. “Seriously, don't worry about it.”

Steve chuckles.

“I guess it is half your fault.”

James fights a blush. That's true, actually – Steve hasn't been here because he's been in the tower with James. 

“Bathroom,” Steve says, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the only closeable door upstairs while he continues, and James sticks his head in.

It's nice – wood and stone again. Hardwood on the floor, a toilet and sink with soft rugs near the sink, and then a claw-footed bath that's white on the inside but stone-coloured on the outside (and is _huge_ so it must fit Steve in it even lying down). And then, right at the other end of the bathroom, there's a walk-in shower with a half glass wall that's more like a mini wet-room.

The windows in here are frosted. The shower glass is not. 

James leans out of the bathroom again.

“Pretty nice,” he says.

Steve bundles up the bedclothes and grins.

“Thanks,” he says. “Got a bit more color in it than the tower, even if it doesn't all match. Do you prefer a particular side of the bed?” 

James frowns. 

“What?” he says.

“When you're standing at the end of the bed lookin' at the pillows,” Steve answers, "do you prefer to be on the left or right hand side of the bed?”

“Uh...right?” James says. “Like....right,” he points.

Steve nods.

“Okay,” he says. “If you've brought anything that needs to go in the nightstand, you know, charger, lube, whatever, just stick all that in there and come downstairs and I'll make us a coffee when I'm done changing the bedclothes.”

James nods, sets the backpack on the mattress and opens it, the retreating sound of Steve's clinking tags fading as he goes downstairs. James puts his razor and his toothbrush in the bathroom, his phone and charger on the nightstand, and one more thing in the bedside drawer, and then he takes the laptop out. He leaves the bag where it is, on the bed, because the rest of the stuff inside is Steve's, and then he goes back downstairs to the reading room section bit, because that's the bit he wants to sit in the most, and waits for Steve.

***

When Steve's made the bed and got changed out of his leathers and into jeans and a tee, he makes James a caramel latte in a tall glass like you get in fancy coffee shops, and plugs his phone into the apparently hidden speaker system on his way over to the couch. It's a quiet playlist of songs James doesn't know, jazz and easy listening, to be background noise to the silence they're sitting in, and Steve sits down right next to James, sharing body warmth and personal space. They both have a cookie, too.

Steve lifts his arm for James to snuggle in, and James does, and Steve puts his socked feet up on the giant pouf and sighs heavily.

“So,” he says. “My last few days was all about organizing the movement of rubble and relaying said organization to people I know and don't know. What about you, 'uh? Tell me about your week.”

James blinks once or twice, tries to think about anything besides how nice Steve's body feels under the soft cotton tee he's put on, and then squints. He and Steve have only been apart for three days but it felt kind of...

Terrible, it felt terrible.

“Connor was talking to me about setting up an online store,” James says. “I really like him, he's one of those guys I think I'm gonna be friends with when I'm like sixty. You know?” James winces internally at his own words, oh fuck, the friends Steve thought he was gonna have when he was sixty are _dead_ now, and he's just reminded-

“Oh yeah,” Steve says, “I'm like that about Sam. And Tony's actually gonna be sixty, soon – if you wanna bug the hell out of him, remind him sometime.”

James snorts, half out of amusement and half as the breath he was holding rushes out in relief.

“No thanks, I like being employed,” he says. “Connor's looking into like...metalworking and jewelry, you know? He works with all kinds of stuff for hobbies so that's what he's doing, and he figured I'd know about how to set up an online store.”

“Do you?” Steve asks.

“I did Becca's for her,” he says, “but I don't know how to _run_ one.”

“You'll have to give me Becca's handle sometime. So Connor's gonna make jewelry?” 

“Yeah,” James says. “He's got like a whole workshop and stuff, he buys metal with his paychecks and uses all kinds of like...wood and stuff that he finds on- he likes camping, so he goes camping and picks up rocks and wood and stuff. Like he's always made them for gifts but, y'know. It'd be way better to have somewhere to put them so people could pay actual money. He'd be able to get it off the ground. We're all techs and engineers in my team and it's like, it's like, he likes his job but he loves to weld and stuff like that. Hands-on guy.”

“Hmm, sounds like a good idea,” Steve says, and James doesn't know if Steve means it to sound as double-entendre-y as it does but he probably does, it's Steve after all. “You have anything you'd like to do like that? I mean, I'm not saying it's easy, by any means, but I tried to make my hobbies into work and all I ended up doing was drawing ads and painting signs. Not exactly thrilling.”

James tilts his head this way and that.

“Eh, there's things I like doing,” he says, “but nothing I'm thinking of for a business. Like I wanna try makin' sushi one time or I wanna see if I can make this table I found online. And I do the programming, so it's always nice to upgrade my computer and shit like that, you know. I like...lighting, design, stuff like that.”

“I had no idea,” he says. “You never said. And you make this stuff or...?”

James laughs.

“I wish,” he says. “My mom thinks I'm nuts but I- I love clean lines and clever storage and stuff. You know? And light. I love it, especially when it's all over. Like no shadows, no dark places, just all warm light. I love it. One lamp looks like the _moon_ , like you can hold a mini moon in your hands, it's just...”

Steve regards him for a long few moments, smiling softly.

“You're good with your hands and you know your electronics. How hard can it be to put together a bunch of lights?”

“I mean,” he says, “I got a couple of things at my place but like...ah, don't worry about it.”

“You know, very few people look at me when I tell them I paint and say I shouldn't worry about it. If you want to try this stuff, tell me. We'll try some time. Maybe not right this weekend, but why not?”

James bites his lip, slowly learning that refusing Steve Rogers doesn't really get him very far.

“That'd be awesome,” he says. “Thank you.”

Steve nods.

“Now, Connor makes jewelry and he wants you to set up an online store for him.”

“Yeah!” James says. “Right, sure.”

~

Connor is someone that James really likes – like Amy. He's lucky to work with people who treat him like an equal, and who treat him like he knows what he's talking about. Plus, Connor's a riot when he gets going – sharp and funny and yeah, okay, James might have had a little crush on him when he first started. 

But the thing is, James was straight out of college and terrified of everything, and Connor had been serious as fuck when James had shown up on day one. And then, as James had asked questions, Connor had answered them. When James had had doubts, Connor had put them to rest. He and Connor go out for drinks with Amy after work sometimes – haven't in a while, actually, James should make sure they do it again soon – and he remembers Connor saying, _any concerns?_

And, while James had gone on to have many, he'd only had one right there at that point.

“I might not get it first time,” he'd said, because one of his dickhead professors hated that – that sometimes he had to have things explained things twice.

“James,” Connor said, “from your record and your attitude, you seem like a smart guy. I don't care if you ask me the same question a hundred times a day for the rest of your career as long as you're okay with the same answer. There's no such thing as a stupid question when the answer helps you do you job, okay?” 

And James had felt a weight lift off his shoulders that he hadn't even known he was carrying. 

Connor's been great to him, and Amy, right from the start – their whole team actually. But it's Connor and Amy he's friends with on Facebook and Connor and Amy whose birthdays are in his calendar.

“I really do wanna meet them at some point,” Steve says. “Obviously not this early but they sound like great guys.”

James nods. 

“They are.”

When he's finished talking about how great Connor is as a manager and a friend, he starts talking about Amy – because James doesn't have a lot of friends but Amy's one of them. They're basically the same person but in different bodies, and she never loses patience with him either. They get on like...

Well, the only other person James gets on that well with is Becca.

“I can completely understand,” Steve says. “Best friends are best friends.”

James smiles.

“Yeah,” he says, they really are.

He and Amy were both as awkward as each other when they started, both nervous about the company's reputation and anxious about whether they'd be able to maintain their workloads. Of course, they both graduated top of their classes, too, so (Connor keeps telling them) they've got nothing to worry about. 

But they gossip, is the thing. They eat lunch together and get milkshakes together and James sometimes thinks that if they'd met in a different life they might even be dating. She's hilarious, and smart, and he really can't wait to be Uncle James to her kids one day. 

He's learning Mandarin from her, slowly, but she's always patient and they always have a good time. He couldn't have asked for a better project buddy – wishes he'd known her in high school.

When he's finished relaying all this information, Steve is still paying attention, thank God.

“Uh, sorry,” James says. “I, uh. I talk a lot.”

Steve shakes his head, smiles a little wider. 

“It's nice,” he says. “I...” He looks suddenly very sad, even though he's still smiling. “It's nice to have somebody to talk to, honestly,” he says. 

James regards him. 

Something's up, he knows that much. Steve's been super apologetic, expecting just about everything except positive reactions, and this kind of sorta wistfully nostalgic as well? He doesn't know if Steve's just tired or nervous or whatever but it's...not exactly unnerving. He doesn't think Steve is sick of him because Steve doesn't look remotely unhappy. But something's put Steve off-kilter, James would put money on it.

Steve leans down and kisses him, just outta nowhere, and James – well, James isn't about to turn him down. James gets over him again – like he did that day he gave Steve a handjob in his recliner – and gives him a handjob on the reading couch instead. There's something thrilling about it, being so close to windows, daylight streaming through. Rationally, he knows nobody can see them, but it's still enough to be exciting.

The only difference is that they work together this time, Steve's fingers tight around his dick while James does the same, and Steve flicks his cotton tee up so they can both come all over his abs, seconds before James comes. Steve's maybe forty seconds later, head back, eyes closed, and he bites his lip, turns his head away and says,

“Oh, oh,” on a breath as he comes, too.

For a couple of minutes, they stay where they are, neither of them really feeling the urge to shift. Steve takes his shirt off once James moves to get off his lap, wipes off with it and then kisses James before he tucks himself back into his jeans and gets up.

He takes his shirt through to the laundry and then goes upstairs to get another, and James just watches him, relaxed and satisfied.

Mostly.

“What are we having for dinner?” he asks as Steve reappears over the balcony, and Steve laughs, pulling another tee over his head.

It looks exactly the same as the other one.

~

Steve makes cheeseburgers for their evening meal – meat that he picked up from a farmer's market, as well as local cheese, fresh salad, homemade relish, homemade fries, sweet potato wedges, bacon, onion rings, freaking....James is gonna die, but he's gonna die a happy man.

Steve second-guesses himself a lot while he's making dinner, but James tries to give him space, and be appreciative once he's eating.

“This is amazing,” he says, and Steve smiles, a little less broadly than usual.

“I'm glad you're enjoying it.”

~

After dinner, Steve brings the ambient lighting down a little, so that the lights that are on make the place feel warm and quiet. They're both done eating and done with the week and James busies himself on the laptop, tucked up against Steve's side and twisted almost perpendicular to Steve, who's sitting up like a proper adult and reading a book. In silence.

But the thing is - and James wouldn't say it's bugging him exactly, but he's noticed because he knows what he likes - James loves having noisy partners. Not like...yelling or stuff, but when he can hear they're having a good time. And Steve is, right? 

Maybe he's not. Maybe James isn't nearly as good as he thinks – but he must be, right? Why wouldn't Steve tell him if he weren't? Or maybe he's alright but he's not doing what Steve wants, or something? Obviously, Steve's a private guy, like a quiet guy, too. But... 

It's probably nothing. He's probably acting weird because of something unrelated, not because he's changed his mind about letting James into his actual home.

James thought that was it for a while, actually, thought maybe Steve was quiet because he was in the tower but he's just as quiet here, where nobody else is, where he's not on duty. He sighs through his nose. He's winding himself up over nothing, he knows that.

“You alright?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” James says. “I was just...the- I was thinking about how you're,” good job, James, get out of this one, “quiet...”

There's a pause during which James' brain informs him of all the clever things he could have said instead.

“I usually am,” Steve says, because it's true. 

As far as what the world sees of Steve Rogers, it's _always_ been true – he's always sounded quiet and measured unless he needed to raise his voice when he's on the TV or in videos on YouTube. Of course, quiet is not necessarily synonymous with calm...

“Yeah but,” James says, and he shifts a little. 

Steve squeezes James' shoulders a little. 

“Yeah?” he says, but James shakes his head.

“I don't know,” he says. “You...I mean...when...”

“Is this a sex thing?” Steve guesses, and James sits up then, puts the laptop down and turns around, plants one hand on Steve's stomach so he can look him in the eye.

“How come you never make any noise when you come?”

~

Steve blinks. 

“You say 'oh, oh,'” James continues, in what's actually a fair approximation and makes Steve a little warmer than he was ten seconds previously, “but then...” 

Steve looks at him for a second before he laughs.

“I mean, I grew up with paper thin walls and homosexuality wasn't made legal until...what, two-thousand-three? Nationwide? So yeah.”

James' mouth twists a little and he cocks his head, but Steve doesn't really twig until James looks away.

“Oh,” he says, “sweetheart,” and he turns James' head back. “Are you telling me you think I'm not having a good time?”

James shrugs one shoulder, looks down as though he doesn't care.

“James,” he says, “I can try and be louder about it if you want, I just-”

“No, I don't-” James says, “I don't mean you have to...just...”

Steve cocks his head, waits James out.

“You're enjoying it, right?” James does eventually say, and Steve inclines his head so James understands he wants a kiss.

“You feel incredible,” Steve says when they part. “All the time. I'm just...not a screamer, you know?” 

James snorts. 

“A screamer?” he says. 

“It's fine,” Steve says. “I'll try and be a little more vocal in future.”

“It's okay,” James says. “Honest, it's fine, just like....as long as you like it.”

“Hmm, sweetheart,” Steve says, pulling James closer for another kiss. “Nowhere I'd rather be.”

But James doesn't look convinced. Steve waits a couple of seconds but he doesn't say anything else, and they're not going to get anywhere like this.

“Honey, what's the matter, huh?” Steve asks, brushing a few strands of hair behind James' ear.

James sucks his lower lip into his mouth and drags his teeth over it. 

“What's upset you since you got back from China?” he says, and Steve...

Well, Steve had hoped, given all the time he's been in this century, with all the help he's had in therapy and all the training he's had with SHIELD, that maybe he wasn't quite that easy to read any more.

“Oh,” he says.

The problem is, Steve knows the answer to James' question exactly. It's a conversation they're apparently having now, although Steve would perhaps have liked to wait a couple of months. 

He sits forward, getting the urge to sit up straight and think – he doesn't particularly want to be lounging around on the furniture for this one. James lets him go, sitting up, too.

“I know what it is,” Steve says. “And it's really stupid.”

“Well if you're upset then it's not stupid,” James says, and Steve almost smiles.

James is a good kid, and keeps proving it, too.

“I mentioned something to Tony. I can't tell you what 'cause it's classified, but he said 'well don't take it home with you, chances are it'll still be here Monday.' And it just...wasn't the first time I've been told, that's all.”

James frowns. Not taking work shit home with you is a reasonable work ethic but Steve's work is different than most people's. And Steve's smart enough to agree with the work ethic. So if it's not the why, then it must be...

“Who else told you?” James says, and Steve laughs.

It doesn't sound right – it's forced and there's a bitterness to it that James doesn't usually hear. 

“It was...” he says. And then, “I'm lucky to have loved more than once in my lifetime. I loved Bucky Barnes,” he says, “although we didn't get the chance to love each other right for very long. I loved Peggy Carter, I think, although we did very little. We did more than most people assume, but we'd barely made a move by the time I crashed. I dated a couple of people in this century before my...uh, there was...” He clears his throat and looks up again. “You know I told you I slept with a couple of close friends between partners?” 

James nods.

“Well it started because they were trying to pull me back from a direction that was...” He frowns, shakes his head. “This isn't working,” he says. “I'm not in the right, I'm not starting from the right place, from the start, hang on.”

James just watches him.

Steve scrubs a hand over his face and draws a deep breath, blowing it out heavily a moment later.

“I had a breakdown in my thirties. You know that.” 

James nods. Everybody knows that. It made headlines for months

“Well before that,” Steve says, “waaay before that, when I first got reanimated, I was woken up, put straight back out into the field and, boom, _aliens._ Which, I mean. I had this moment of 'why.' As in, I used to be scared I wouldn't make rent, that I'd die of pneumonia, 'why am I dealing with aliens in my mid-twenties instead of just being dead?' That kind of thing." He narrows his eyes. "And it was big, back then, really big, the way I felt, I- I'd never seen anything like it. We'd – the task- the, uh. Howling Commandos. We weren't called that then, of course but, we'd fought reanimated bodies, we'd fought rogue Nazi scientists without faces, we'd...done a lot, but I lost Bucky two days before I crashed the plane-”

“Jesus,” James says, because he knew the two events had been chronologically close but he'd thought maybe a couple of months or some shit.

“-and then I was...uh, _here_ with aliens and demigods and Iron Man and DVDs. I'm not gonna lie, kid, I felt like going crazy. Just giving up and being a gibbering wreck, but that wouldn't have done me any favors." He sighs heavily. "And I tried to hold it together, thought I was doing pretty good, but I wasn't. I had some friends who sort of...took it on themselves to pull me back a little, and it worked for a while. But not forever. And then I met- I met my ex and I figured, okay, this is it, here I am, here she is, we'll get married and see what happens, except I...”

He shakes his head. Frowns.

“Short version is, I was a mess, kid,” he says. “I was young and proud and stupid, I was so _stupid._ And we started out young and in love and we ended up slightly older with this big ol' elephant in the room and we went from watchin' movies and makin' out to arguing and it was...both of us - it was." James isn't sure what to say to that, trying not to say something stupid. "Ultimately," Steve says, "we didn't match, our personalities didn't match, and we didn't communicate. But a big part of it was that I needed help and wouldn't admit it, and she couldn't...be the help I needed. Some people are strong enough to do it, she...”

“She wouldn't help you?” James says, incredulous, but Steve holds up a hand, shakes his head.

“She _couldn't_ help me,” he answers. “She put herself first and...we both said a lot of things we...kind of meant. But about situations we didn't understand, do you know what I mean?”

James shakes his head.

“Not....really?” he says.

“Yeah,” Steve answers, raising his eyebrows. “Well, yeah I'm not doing a great job of- I mean, we used to argue about shit that only made sense to me years later. _After_ I got help." He rubs his hand over his mouth, gaze turning distant momentarily. "She said to me once, I tried to take responsibility for everything, do everything. I'd try to do the dishes and make the dinner and be intimate and loving and be everything she needed and all I really did was get in the way a lot, put myself where I didn't need to be. I'd try and guess what she wanted without asking, you know- It was stifling for her, I can completely understand that it was stifling for her. I was terrified of losing people back then, I'd already lost so much, so I held on tight and it was... _too_ much." Steve goes so quiet between sentences that James can hear himself breathing. "And there was, she, we'd talked about a family," he says. "But she said, and she was right, that I was someone who couldn't leave my work at work. I was always Captain America. And that was- One of the last things we talked about was...” Steve clenches his jaw, smiles tightly. “Although children were never deal-breakers for us,” he says, “I was self-destructing. Slowly but surely, you know. And one of the last arguments we had was about the fact that she wouldn't have a family, that needed taking care of, with a lunatic who wouldn't even take care of himself.”

“That's-” James says, angry on Steve's behalf, but Steve gets there first.

“-Fair,” he says, holding up a hand - James hears the metal tags shift as he does. “It's fair. And I want you to remember that because it's important to me. Yes, she could have done more to help me than yell at me and point out my flaws. But I needed _serious help_ and wouldn't get it by myself, wouldn't even acknowledge it myself, and it was killing me." James shuts his eyes for a moment - he knows this but it's hard to hear. "I was letting it - it would have happened eventually." And that, that's a _lot_ harder to hear. "Course, it wasn't something that had been talked about when I was younger, you just buckled down and got to it. And...” he shakes his head again. “And I _hated myself_ for being so...y'know, I thought it made me weak, lesser. I thought I should be stronger than that, especially with the serum." Steve runs a hand through his hair, sighs heavily, and James fights the urge to touch him. He's got no idea if now's the right time. Steve draws another breath. "It fucked me up, that relationship, I'm not gonna lie – one thing that did in a line of things that did. All the nice things I'd tried to do felt like they'd been thrown back in my face – they had, sometimes. And it felt like she was doing the whole 'it's me or the Avengers' thing. An ultimatum. But the truth of it is, we were damaging each other. I needed help but she couldn't give it to me, and so she saved herself. I respect that. We speak, sometimes. We're not friends, but we're not enemies. She's happy. I'm...” he smiles, looks James up and down. “Getting there. Workin' on it. Happier now, anyway. The friends I slept with tried to help me, but it... I think it took the breakdown for me to understand how bad it was, how much I couldn't handle it alone.”

James just stares at him.

“Uh, is that...?” Steve says, looking, suddenly, uncomfortable.

“I'm sorry,” James says. “I'm sorry she didn't-”

“James,” Steve says, and his voice is just a little more firm. “We were young. I was a different guy. I've always meant well but I...would have taken her down with me. She said some things, when we argued, that hurt. Some things that weren't true but a lot that was, and I'm sure I did too. I need you to understand – we were both to blame. And I've come a long way since then.”

James chews his lip, shakes his head a little as he sits back on the couch.

“Happy Friday,” Steve says quietly, wry, and then he's moving. “Sorry. Didn't mean to bring it down like that.”

“No,” James says. “I shouldn't have asked-”

Steve, standing up now, reaches out and slides a hand onto the side of James' face. 

“Of course you should. I told you, I want you to talk to me. And I'm glad you did,” he says. “Now you know. Listen, I'm gonna...go make a coffee and take a minute, okay? I'm not sorry you asked, I'm not sorry you know. I just...want to go and breathe for a couple of minutes by myself, and then I'll bring coffee and we can go on with our evening, okay?”

James nods, bites his lip and tries not to let it wobble.

“Aw, sweetheart,” Steve says, and he leans down, kisses him softly. “It's all right. Everything's fine, I promise.”

“I,” James says, and swallows the next two words _fast_ because, boy, would now be a shitty time to say it. “You're sure?” he says instead, and Steve nods, smiles a little ruefully. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Remembering doesn't hurt like it used to.”

And then he turns around and walks over to the kitchen. James throws his arm up over his face and sighs heavily. Well, shit. His douche exes are nothing in comparison to that.

~

When Steve comes back, James is on the laptop again in what was an attempt to distract himself, to give Steve the privacy of a few minutes alone. Steve's got a coffee in each hand, and he sets his own on the small table by the couch before he passes James' across and sits back down.

“Okay?” he says, and there atmosphere is less heavy, Steve's got less of a weight on his shoulders, James can see it. 

“Yeah,” James says. 

“Sure?” Steve asks, and James nods as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah,” he rasps. “I'm sorry.”

“Kid,” Steve says, and he sounds exasperated. He puts his coffee mug down, points at James'. “Put 'em down.”

James hesitates, not sure what he's being asked.

“Kid, put the coffee and the laptop down a second and c'mere,” and James puts the mug down. “Good, now bring it in.”

James frowns in confusion, leans closer experimentally, but forgets that he's dating a supersoldier and finds, just after Steve fits his hands to James' waist, that he's being _lifted_ over Steve's lap. He doesn't yelp – doesn't really get the chance – and when he's settled astride Steve, he sorts of flails a bit and puts his hands down on Steve's chest for balance.

“C'mere,” Steve says again, a little more softly, as he slides his hand onto the side of James' face, then to the back of his skull to bring him down. 

When Steve kisses him, it's soft and slow, gentle but just as careful as he ever is, and he strokes the backs of the fingers of his other hand across Jame's stomach, follows his waist around with his palm until he can press his hand flat to James' back.

When he draws away, he doesn't let James go far. There's only an inch or so between them, and Steve searches his face.

“You alright?”

James searches Steve's face right back. 

“I'm okay,” he says, “I just....I-I know it's not, it's nothing to do with m- I...”

Steve looks apologetic, brushes the hair back out of James' face.

“I didn't mean to upset you,” he says, “and I know how it feels to be mad on someone's behalf. I appreciate it, it's sweet of you. Besides, you're dating me. Of course it's to do with you.”

“Sorry,” James says, and he knows he sounds sullen but it's difficult to be sorry when he's looking at a man who's girlfriend dumped him because _surprise_ , he actually needed help after losing his _entire world_.

“Honey, you look like you got acid,” Steve answers. “Don't give yourself ulcers on my account. I remember 'em and they're shit. It's not even fair seein' as how I can't get 'em no more so...”

James has to swallow hard, is mortified to find that his eyes are stinging, and Steve's smile fades as he abandons his attempt at humor.

“Aw, kiddo, you feel a lot, huh?”

James sniffs.

“My mom calls me 'overpassionate,'” he says. “Like how I get pissed off by civil rights stuff and politics and like animal cruelty and...stuff.”

Steve nods.

“It tempers with age,” he says. “And far be it from me to correct your mother but...When you're your age? I don't know. Giving a shit about things is better than not giving a shit about things. Nobody ever got nothin' done by not caring, now, did they?”

“Martin Luther King,” James says. 

“Harvey Milk,” Steve answers. “Rosa Parks, Marsha P. Johnson, Ellen DeGeneres, it goes on and on and they're people whose names get remembered because they stood up and did something. And I know, okay, I know that you feelin' bad I got dumped ain't the same as Stonewall but you care, and that's more than a lot of people did. So I want you to know, I appreciate it. But I'm okay.”

James closes his eyes but Steve tucks his hand under James' chin.

“Hey,” he says, and James looks at him. “I've been through a lot, but I'm okay.”

James shakes his head.

“God,” he says, “ _how_?”

Steve sighs.

“A good long look at myself, an indispensable support network, and some good old Catholic guilt,” Steve answers. “Some stuff you get over being called a sin and some stuff you don't, lucky for me.”

James' mouth twists.

“I'm sorry,” he says, “I'm always sad for you and I know I shouldn't-”

“You don't _have_ to be,” Steve says, “but nobody's saying you _shouldn't._ You feel how you feel. You feel it for _me_ which is...You're a good kid. You wanna feel sad for a little bit, you go ahead, I'm right here. I'll still be here when you're done.”

James nods. Kisses him again and then pulls away, presses his lips together, tucks his face up against Steve's throat instead. Steve just holds him, strokes his back. Kisses the side of his head. Lets him feel how he feels.

***

For a long while, neither of them move. Steve's music is playing and the lights are low and James is enjoying listening to the steady beat of Steve's heart, enjoying the warm weight of Steve's hands on his back. And, really it's no surprise that, at a stupidly reasonable hour, like, eleven or something, Steve says he's gonna go to bed and, yeah, actually, James feels like that too. So he packs up on the laptop while Steve gets up to make them hot chocolate.

While the drinks are doing whatever they're doing – like while the milk is warming or something – Steve does something else that James doesn't really notice, because James is busy shutting the laptop down. It's only when Steve moves from the kitchen to the TV area for something, tags clinking again, that James looks up, and then his mouth goes dry.

Steve's not wearing his shirt, or his socks, or his pants. And, what's more, he takes off his boxers while James watches, folding everything neatly over the back of the TV section's couch – then he goes back to the kitchen and finishes the hot chocolates. Entertaining is an understatement.

“All right?” he says when he's done, one mug in each hand. “Ready?”

Neither of them's up for sex, or any approximation of it – they're neither of them in the mood. 

For his part, James is still definitely more than a little nervous about spending the night in Steve's bed. Like, it's ridiculous, he knows that, but he's still nervous. 

But Steve, who's standing there naked with hot chocolate in both hands as though this is the most natural thing in the world-

James is staring at his dick. 

He looks at Steve's face instead, and Steve's smiling.

“Ready?” he says again.

“Uh,” James answers. “Yeah, sorry. Hard to concentrate for some reason.”

Steve laughs, hands James one of the mugs once he's set the laptop aside, and James gets up to take it, touches his free hand to Steve's chest and strokes his fingers down to Steve's stomach because he can. Steve kisses him for it, like a reward. 

“C'mon, kiddo,” he says when they part. “Lets get settled down.”

James goes upstairs first, takes the stairs as quickly as he can with a drink in his hand, so that he can turn around and watch Steve. Steve flicks a switch on his way past the bottom of the stairs, and the lights fade to nothing, the blinds start to lower. 

He walks up the stairs like he has all the time in the world, and his feet barely make any sound on the wood, his tags shifting with soft little sounds on his skin - James is really learning to love that sound. 

They take turns in the bathroom, and Steve leaves the blinds upstairs so that there's a little light coming into the upstairs living area. It means that, when he turns out the light in the living area, it's not pitch black everywhere. In fact, it's not pitch black anywhere – the glow of the city comes through the fabric downstairs, and James finishes in the bathroom and gets into bed to find that he can still see the latticework of beams that make up the ceiling of the place, even when the only light is from the lamps on the nightstand. It's weird – new – but not unpleasant.

When Steve's done, he comes to get into bed, and sits up against the headboard for a while.

“I notice you didn't bring pajamas,” he says. “Good.”

James blushes despite himself, wriggles a little closer and then picks up his drink from where he put it down on the nightstand.

“Anything you want to do this weekend?” Steve asks, finishing his mug already, and James shakes his head a little.

“No plans,” he says. “Couple of things I wanna try but it doesn't- we don't have to- Uh....yeah. No.”

“We'll talk about it in the morning,” Steve answers, pressing a kiss to James' hair. “I told you, I'm up for almost anything once.”

“Except ice,” James says.

“Except ice,” Steve answers. “Try bein' sick twenty-five winters in a row, you know what I mean?”

James doesn't, but then he's never been Steve Rogers in the twentieth century so he really doesn't get to judge.

“Are you going running tomorrow?” James asks.

“Why, thinkin' of comin' with?” Steve says, to which James makes the best 'as if' noise he can. “Nah, I'm gonna get back into it Monday but I'm...honestly, I'm takin' the weekend. My leg is fine, but I don't wanna.”

James nods and drains his cup.

“Good plan,” he says, but he looks at the small, chalky pool of the dregs of his cocoa in the bottom of the mug. “I should really brush my teeth again.”

Steve chews the inside of his lip for a second. 

Then he sighs.

“Yeah,” he says, and they both get out of bed again.


	2. Chapter 2

James wakes completely enfolded in Steve's embrace, and it's probably the best way he's ever woken up ever. 

In the night, they've moved together, facing each other, and their legs are tangled now, Steve's arms around James' torso, one hand up at the back of his head. James smiles and opens his eyes and finds that Steve's eyes are closed. 

James shifts a little, enough that it wouldn't bother Steve if he were sleeping, and Steve's brow furrows, his eyes half open for a moment. 

“Morning,” he says, only without any of the vowels.

“Hi,” James answers, lifts one hand to stroke the hair back off Steve's forehead. 

“You wanna get up?” Steve asks, and James takes a moment to parse what he said, it being mostly humming noises.

“Not particularly,” he says eventually, because Saturday morning in bed with Steve Rogers? Why would he want anything else.

“Attaboy,” Steve says, and then he sighs very heavily through his nose and lies still again.

James smiles, can't help it, and just looks at him. He means to examine Steve now he's got the chance, to look at every little thing about him – like his freckles, all fanning out across his shoulders like the dappled light that prickles through leaves, and the one or two that dust the bridge of his nose, or the gray at his temples that tapers back in two straight lines so neat they might be planned, or the long, golden, soft-looking stubble that's all over the lower half of Steve's face. He _means_ to. 

But Steve's bed is very comfortable and his arms are very comforting, and James is soothed right back into sleep within ten minutes by the gentle cadence of Steve's breathing.

~

It's about ten when they get up for real, and Steve goes to take a shower once they've both finished the usual morning ablutions. He comes back out naked, completely shameless, and James doesn't hide the way he looks at Steve.

Steve, however, misreads.

“I can put a towel on,” he says, an James feels his eyebrows go up. 

“No?” he says. “Are you crazy?”

Steve snorts. 

“It's been said,” he concedes, and James takes a moment to collect himself – Steve's still coming back from having a bad day yesterday, and he can keep that in mind. “You want a shower?”

James will take one because he's got no idea what Steve's plans are, and he's as quick and thorough as he can be. When he's done, he sees that his bathrobe is hanging on the back of the door which...okay, Steve must have moved it there during the day on Friday or something?

But James shaves – everything – puts on the dressing gown and then walks back into the bedroom to find that...Steve's not _in_ the bedroom, mildly disappointing. But James can hear music playing downstairs – ambient sort of stuff, all synth tones and very little tune – downstairs, light and airy background noise for the clinking he can also hear. Steve must be making breakfast. Like _must_ be, because something smells amazing.

It's at this point James realizes that he only has the clothes he walked in wearing with him at that precise moment, so he goes to the balcony.

“Steve?” he says, leaning over a little.

There are a few seconds before Steve appears, from underneath the balcony.

“Hi,” he says. “Y'okay?”

“Yep,” James says. “Can I borrow some of your boxers?”

“Oh!” Steve says. “I mean you can but there are a couple things you can wear in the closet space on the...if you're looking at the end of the bed looking at the pillows, the left side of the room. Third door in, that stuff. That's yours. If you want. I have a washer if you don't, though, so let me know.”

He smiles then, and then he goes back under the balcony to continue breakfast, and James rubs at his eyebrows in some attempt to make them lower again. Okay then.

He goes to the third door in and opens it and what's inside is...a closet with clothes. A...lot more clothes than James was anticipating but...

He pulls out the stack of three tees....and yeah, it looks like they're meant for him. This first one is white, with huge saggy holes where the sleeves would be, and says 'Im not Hipster Im from Brooklyn' in Cabana font capitals without any punctuation or apostrophes. The next one is gray marl tank with a circle in the middle, inside which is line art print of a mountain landscape, with what looks like watercolor splashes up across the right hand side. The last tee reads “My boyfriend was hipster before it was cool” in Monthoers typeface, with a little star over the 'I' in boyfriend, and a complicated geometric pattern of triangles printed just below it.

James feels his face warm and something in his chest warm too. Trying to appear a little less hugely smitten than he is, he picks the mountain landscape one and tugs it over his head. It's soft, absolutely huge on him, to the point that it's almost off one shoulder, and he loves it. There's a drawer of boxers in his size, so he grabs a pair and puts them on, There are also skinny jeans in there – one pair black and one pair in black but with galaxy colors at the top, plus a pair of gray skinny drop-crotch track pants. He picks the galaxy pants, no question.

Once he's dressed, he puts his still-wet hair in a bun and think about going downstairs. Then he goes back to the nightstand, grabs his one thing extra, and does.

“They fit?” Steve asks as he comes over to where Steve's making breakfast. 

“Mmhm,” James says, pressing his face between Steve's shoulderblades.

~

Steve is busy making bacon maple french toast when he hears James come downstairs. James comes over and wraps his arms around Steve from behind. And it's nice, it's so nice, to have someone here, to have someone who isn't afraid to touch him because they want to, someone who presses hands and mouth to his skin, even through fabric, because they want to and see no reason not to. He needs to talk to James a little more about last night, mainly to apologize, but he's got vanilla coffee brewing in the cafetière and cream to put in it, and breakfast can come first. James goes away and sits down at the table while Steve dishes up, and then he turns around with both plates in hand and looks at James, who's wearing the gray mountainscape tee and what looks like the galaxy skinnies, along with...

A thin, black band of leather circles James' throat, studded all over with sparkling clear stones not even the size of Steve's pinkie fingernail, and it...changes...the way he looks. It makes his neck look thinner, longer, and makes his skin look paler, too. The first strands of James' hair have started to dry and are coming loose but haven't yet made it out of the bun, and there's a faint blush over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

Steve becomes aware that he's standing very still, so he finishes putting the plates on the slate 'mats' on the table, and then goes back for the coffee, trying to think of something to say. James isn't looking at him, is deliberately avoiding making eye contact, so when Steve pours and brings the coffees, he puts his own down first. 

To deliver James' however, he walks around the table until he stands next to James, and sets the mug down on the coaster with one hand. With the other, telegraphing as clearly as he can, he touches the buckle at the back of James' neck, the prong that protrudes through the leather, then follows the stones around with his one fingertip, the others dragging against James' skin, until he can lift the metal loop at the front. James looks at him then, although he doesn't move, just stares upward with his lips slightly parted.

Steve tries to think of something to say and draws mostly a blank.

“You were right,” he says eventually, because James was. 

It might never have been meant for human use but it's very pretty, and looks very good on James. Makes James look even better than he does usually. 

After a moment or two, he goes back around the table and sits down. He says grace while James puts cream and sugar in his coffee, and then they begin eating. James makes a very appreciative noise along with his first mouthful, and Steve can't help watching him. He'd managed to look away but James is good at making that difficult.

James is still blushing visibly, and he slows down a little on the mouthful he's chewing.

“I-Is it okay?” James says, and Steve puts his cutlery down.

“Whatever you want,” Steve says, “it suits you and I like it,” and he sits forward, watches as James visibly relaxes, “now listen, you're not into that whole when-the-collar-is-on-I'm-at-your-service thing, and neither am I. I'm not gonna strip you and keep you at my knees-”

James's gaze flicks up and back and _oh_. Oh _really_?

“I get the idea that's a fantasy you'd like to try, though. Am I right?”

James swallows his mouthful very carefully.

“Yeah,” he says, before he tries to drown himself in his coffee.

Steve nods.

“Okay,” he says, and then laughs. “Slow down, that's okay.” he reaches out across the table, waits until James puts his hand in Steve's own. “That's okay. Just think about it, we'll talk about it, and then we'll do something about it once we're both clear on where we're going. Okay? Doesn't have to be today.”

James nods quickly, continues trying to drown himself in his coffee cup.

Steve smiles, lets go.

“Your breakfast okay?” 

James nods.

“Mhhm,” he says. “Yeah's'good,” he answers, mouth full, and Steve has pity on him.

“Good,” he says. “Now this next part, you don't need to talk, you just need to listen. Okay?”

James nods.

“Okay,” Steve says. “What happened yesterday,” he says, and James looks like he's going to say something then, but Steve gets there first. “Hang on,” he says. “What happened yesterday was that Tony accidentally reminded me of something my ex used to say a lot. And then I thought of the other stuff she used to say and I started to worry that I was doing all the stuff she hated and that you'd hate it too, so I started gettin' weird and trying to second-guess and...it's ridiculous right now but...” he shakes his head. “It made sense yesterday. And I wanna tell you I'm sorry-”

“No-mph,” James says through a mouthful.

“-about worrying you. I'm sorry it upset you so much, too. I'm not- I mean, I was having a bad day and they're tough memories, some of 'em. That's...not something I can help as much as I dislike it.” James' expression smooths out again. “But I'm sorry I worried you.”

James nods.

“M'kay,” he says, and then he swallows his mouthful, using one of Steve's phrases back at him. “Thanks for telling me.” And then changing the subject completely. “I love the shirts.”

Steve smiles.

“Good,” he says. “I was worried they wouldn't fit you.”

James snorts. They look like circus tents on him, but Steve is aware that's the point.

“Once I get a better feel for what you like,” he says, meaning, once he's sure James means what he says when he says that he likes them, “we can do a little more by way of clothes shopping. If you want. I know a couple nice places in Manhattan that know me fairly well, and I wouldn't mind a fashion show.”

“Oh my God,” James mutters, but he's smiling, “you really are my sugar daddy.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at him.

“When was your birthday again,” he says, and James laughs, covers his eyes with his hand.

***

They've been sitting in the TV section, James watching the last few episodes of ' ~~Super~~ **human** ' while Steve reads from his tablet. They aren't on the couch that faces the TV, because then lying down would put them sideways. Instead, the three-seater is perpendicular to the TV wall, and Steve is lying on it. James is lying on it too, his back against Steve's front, his head resting back against Steve's chest, and Steve brackets James' legs with his own. He's only half paying attention to what he's reading but James is riveted by the characters on-screen. The seductive but dangerous ex-soviet assassin Red Scorpion has just learned to trust Major Ethan Ranger, James' favorite, and they're now working together in a race against time to save Eagle-Eye ( _seriously? That was the best they could come up with?_ ) from a supervillain, and New York from a nuclear bomb “ten times more devastating than an ordinary atom bomb.” Steve assumes they're saving the state, and not the city, because a whole lot more than a city would be annihilated by something ten times more devastating than an 'ordinary' atom bomb.

“Will our intrepid heroes save the day?” Steve murmurs during a quiet part, when the Scorpion is staring at Major Ranger with barely any expression save for the sadness in her big blue eyes, while he talks about trust and truth and ' _families are honest with each other, Scorpion... Nadia._ ' 

Which is a crock, but whatever.

But then James makes his fatal mistake – he says,

“Oh, yeah they will. I already saw these. I've just been watchin' 'em again while I wait for season two – it's coming out in like a week!”

Which means James doesn't need to pay attention. How nice and conducive to Steve's plans.

Steve puts his tablet down carefully, quietly, and wraps his arms around James' middle, and then he starts kissing the soft skin of the side of James' neck either side of the collar, sweet and gentle, nuzzling at the fine hairs at the edge of the patch of skin behind his ear. Steve feels goosebumps under his lips a moment before James shivers in his arms, mouth opening on a laugh that sounds more like a moan.

“Really?” he says. “This is one of my favorite episodes.”

“Ethan befriends the Red Scorpion?” Steve murmurs against James' skin, and James squirms delightedly as he chuckles.

“No, he finally _tells_ her they're friends. It's been true for ages but she wouldn't admit it so he tells her he already knows. And then they go fight the bad guys and she has his back and saves him _just_ before he kills himself.”

Steve kind of freezes.

“What?” he says.

“He saves the entire East Coast but nearly at the cost of his own life, but she saves him 'cause she doesn't care who knows they're friends.”

That...

“Huh,” Steve says, because that's an interesting amalgam of his life and Tony's. “And where is the genius guy at this point?”

“Ex-genius,” James says because, right, yeah. Tobias 'Toby' Clark's superpower was his genius so he's not a genius at this point. 

_Oh God, I'm learning the characters._

“He's getting the AI to help him fix the exo-suit,” James says, “so he's grounded.”

Steve just closes his eyes and breathes.

“Okay,” he says. “Anyway, I believe I was trying to convince you to turn that off and pay attention to me.”

“Hold on a sec,” James says. “In a second they're gonna talk to Commander Peak at D.E.F.E.N.S.E.”

“Please don't tell me what that stands for,” Steve says, and James laughs.

“Department Enforcing Federal Early National Safety Efforts,” he says.

Steve processes this for a couple of seconds.

“And they had _actual writers_ come up with this?”

“Aw, here was me hoping I could call you Ethan during sex.”

Oh, that's enough. Oh wait, Peak like 'pique' like Fury – Steve gets it. But still,

“Come here,” he says, and James actually does yelp as Steve lifts him this time.

Steve is a lot stronger than he looks, and he looks pretty damned strong.

“Okay!” James says, but he's laughing, and Steve puts him back down so that James can get up of his own accord. “Am I paying you enough attention now?” he says, and Steve just looks at him.

“I'd like for you to be paying me more,” he says, and James picks up the remote and turns off the TV.

“How much?” he says, because they're both kind of awkward at flirting but this is fine – they're as bad as each other and it's the tone that's important, not what they're saying necessarily. 

Steve looks him up and down, finds himself thinking about a whole lot of different things but also finds that, out of the multiple things they haven't tried yet, he can only think of one that he wants right now above the others.

“How would you feel about topping?” he says, and James...

~

James must be dreaming because there's no way he just heard what he thinks he just heard. Steve's lying on the couch like one of those French girls and he looks serious so like....

His mind skips ahead – upstairs, on the bed, fucking Steve, James needs maybe to sit down except his legs aren't working and he hasn't done this in _ages_ where does he even start with something like this?

“I mean, you don't have to...?” Steve says.

Oh _fuck_ , words!

“No- Yes! I, yeah, I will wow sorry hang on. I'll,” he's nodding too much and he's already getting hard like, enthusiastic yes. “I can totally, I can do that, I can- are you sure?”

Steve is laughing silently, eyes crinkles up at the corners, perfect teeth- that mouth seriously-

“Okay, try and breathe,” Steve tells him, pressing his hand to his stomach.

James gives him a flat look, so he laughs harder. 

“It nice you're enthusiastic,” Steve says eventually. “I've had a couple partners weren't necessarily into the kind of things I enjoyed.”

James frowns, cocks his head.

“Some people just don't like to fuck a guy with a rubber dick,” Steve clarifies, and if James were drinking he'd've spat it out. 

“I didn't know you had a rubber dick,” he says anyway, and Steve just drops his head into his hands. 

“No respect,” he says, but his voice is muffled. “In my own home!”

James snorts, and Steve gets onto his feet, points at James' head.

“You wanna take your hair down?” he says.

“You mean, you want me to take my hair down,” James says, but he reaches up and tugs the elastic off the bun thing. 

“Mmh,” Steve says, nodding, and then he grabs James by his head – is it weird James is turned on by the fact that Steve could literally crush his skull in those hands – and kisses him, pours his whole body into it like he can make his whole self into one kiss.

When he pulls away, he does so with a deliberately loud noise and grins.

“Man, how long has it been?” James asks.

Steve narrows his eyes and ducks, makes as if he's going to grab him – James skitters out of the way, laughing, and Steve makes a swipe at him. He missed deliberately, both times, but James is very aware that he could be in a fireman's carry right now and probably a good portion of the way up the stairs. It's kinda really hot.

“C'mere,” Steve says a moment later, his expression warm, and James goes, lets Steve fold him up in those enormous arms, and kisses him. “Git upstairs.”

James chews the inside of his cheek as he smiles, and they make for the stairs.

It doesn't work for the first few minutes – James goes first and Steve stops him halfway up, hand on his arm, to turn him back. Steve's only a step behind him so they're the same height when he does and, when Steve kisses him, it's also kind of clear they're not getting very much further for a while. 

They wind up with James sitting back against the stairs – not comfortable but who cares at this point to be honest - with Steve over top of him, braced on his forearms and making out with him where they're awkwardly lying down on the steps.

James had forgotten what an animal Steve's libido can be, not least because he'd been away from it for three days and then they hadn't done much yesterday. But, considering it's like early afternoon now and this is the first time Steve's pounced, he feels Steve has exercised unnecessary restraint. Still, days with Steve feel....

Not long....long's the wrong word.

Big, maybe? They feel like so much happens, like Steve is so present and James has so much of him. And at the same time, it feels like every Monday morning whips the world out from under his feet, feels like work is so much harder when he has to concentrate on it instead of Steve, lunch feels so much less satisfying when he's eating it without Steve.

James knows that he's never been in love before, because nothing has ever felt like this before. But James also remembers his English teacher telling him about how Romeo and Juliet might have been in love but they were also very young and what's all consuming when you're young isn't necessarily that huge when you're older, and all James really gets from it is that he's like super in love with Steve Rogers, like at least half of New York, and Steve is-

One of James' favorite drag queens once said that 'they couldn't stand anyone like two years younger than them, let alone like ten or twenty years,' so maybe Steve's just-

“Wait,” James says. “Wait, waitwait, I need to ask you somethin' stupid,” and Steve, lips swollen, eyes dark, smiles indulgently. 

“Face to face,” Steve says. “Unless you wanted something else?”

“Uh,” James says, and it comes out on a breath because wow _okay_. “You're not just tolerating me, right?” 

“Right,” Steve answers, without even hesitating. “I'm enjoying your company, I'm enjoying the sex, I'm enjoying the nonsexual physical contact and closeness, I like having you here and I like dating you. Anything else?”

James shakes his head because he can't think of anything else right now, and Steve says,

“Good. I'm older than you, I have a different job, but we're both people. Okay? I might be able to show you how to do some stuff but I bet there's stuff you could show me, too.”

James raises and eyebrow and Steve drops his head and presses his face against James' shoulder.

“Get up,” he says, and James can hear the eyeroll.

Steve does actually move away to let him up and then helps James stand, too.

“All I mean,” he says and they continue the journey up the stairs that they started maybe five minutes ago, “is that I'm glad you're talking to me. You know? Glad we're communicating. And I don't want you to feel like we're not equals.”

“Uh, I'm pretty sure we aren't,” James grins. “Have you _seen_ you?”

“If it's any consolation,” Steve answers, “I did not always look like this. I got changed into this very quickly and, FYI, this body? Lemme tell you, queer little Stevie _like_.”

James laughs 'cause he can't help it, looks over his shoulder at Steve.

“I hadn't thought of that,” he says.

“Ye-ha, me either. I am _really_ glad I was alone the first time I saw me. Don't have to rely on the internet when all you need is a mirror. _Mmh!_ ”

“You are literally the only person who is allowed to say that,” James says. “Like the _only_ person who can get away with that.”

“I know, right?” Steve says, grinning. “Little me loves the bod!”

“Ugh, big you is obnoxious.”

“Big me just avoids mirror eye-contact.”

James laughs loudly enough that he surprises himself.

“Oh my God,” he says, and then snorts because of course he does.

Steve lets him laugh for a little but, but turns him around when they reach the top of the stairs. 

“I'm kidding about the mirror thing,” he says, “but have you seen _you_?”

James rolls his eyes. 

“Come on,” he says, making as if to turn, but Steve stops him.

“Nah, listen,” he says, gesturing to himself, “this happens to be what you like, right?”

James nods.

“Well this,” he says, gesturing to James, “happens to be what _I_ like. Different strokes, et cetera.”

James chews his lip for a moment or two but nods.

“Okay,” he says.

“Plus, you'll eat my cooking,” Steve says, breaking away to head towards the bathroom. “Speaking of strokes, you get the stuff outta my nightstand, I'm gonna clean up, I'll be right with you.”

“You said face to face, right?” James retorts, and it's Steve's turn to laugh.

“You bet I did, buster,” he says.

“Hey, can I put my music on first?” he says, and Steve tilts his head.

“Oh, you've got sex music?” he says. “What's wrong with good ol' big band, huh? _a-Pardon me, boy, is that the Chattanooga-_ -”

“That's the music I have!” James says, in fake surprise. “Gee whiz, mister, how'd ya know? _Track twenty-nine-_ ”

"Tch," Steve says, rolls his eyes at James' impromptu but very fetching jazz-hands, and then points at the upstairs input dock, which is on the wall near on the other side of the upper-floor living area. “Go ahead.” 

James does, puts his 'slow and smooth' music on, and Steve listens for a moment or two before he nods, raises one eyebrow, and disappears into the bathroom. 

James bites his lip, looks over the balcony. He wonders if he can get Steve to say “oh, oh,” loudly enough that it'll come back at him off the opposite wall. It's a big space, and he kind of wants to fill it. Plus there's something illicit about a bedroom that doesn't have closed walls – anybody downstairs would hear _everything._

Not that there's anyone downstairs, of course. But if there _were_... James isn't sure if liking the _idea_ is voyeurism when he's pretty sure he wouldn't like the _reality_. He likes the idea of someone hearing, has entertained the usual fuck-or-die fantasy or two (five), but he actually gets a bit weird around people when he goes swimming and has to take off his shirt, so it definitely wouldn't translate to actual sex. He'd probably just scream and hide if anyone walked in.

But the idea though...

It makes him warm just thinking about it, and he bites back a smile in favor of doing as he's been asked. He goes to the nightstand he isn't currently using, tries to pull open the drawer and nothing happens. He doesn't see a lock but he frowns, tries once more, and then tries the cupboard section below it when it doesn't open. 

The door to that swings open with no trouble and, inside the cupboard section, there's a shelf, and then below the shelf is a basket. On the shelf are three things James grabs immediately – condoms, lube, wet wipes. Actually, he gets like five condoms and then puts the box back. But there's also toy cleaner, dental damns, nitrile gloves and a couple of vibrators, one of which is an aneros like the one Steve used on him, but a different color. And it looks like there are more things in the basket – James sees slivers of purple and black and chrome and things in there – pink here and there, too. It looks like a sex toy basket.

 _Next time,_ James tells himself, and closes the cupboard door again. 

He pulls the quilt and topsheet – James only has a quilt in his apartment, whereas Steve checks his hospital corners every morning – right the way back until they're off the bed. Then he folds them, together, into a square and puts them out in the living room section. 

Then he arranges all the pillows on the bed – Steve's bed is platform top, which means there's no central bar, which means he can have Steve in the middle of the mattress if he wants – so that most of them are centered up at the headboard end of the bed. But he keeps one back for under Steve's hips – it may have been a while but he's not an idiot. 

Oh my God, he's going to fuck Steve Rogers, what the fuck?

He puts one of the condoms, plus the lube and the wipes, on the bed, off to one side. It'll be to the right, once he's kneeling be-

He swallows hard, drops a hand to squeeze his dick through the skinny jeans. 

Once he's kneeling between Steve's legs, oh wow. Okay. 

He strips off because Steve's seen him naked a bunch and it's totally not as nerve-wracking as it used to be. Not at all, especially when he's got this ahead of him – right, this is how it is, okay, he's not averse to it. James wants this, wants it _so_ bad but he's also nervous as _fuck_ right now. It's been a long time since he's done it this way around and he likes it, he loves it, but Steve says it's been a long time for him too, right? So like what if James messes up and makes it terrible for Steve? What if James hurts him or something?

The rational part of James' brain knows that he can't hurt Steve if he goes slow and talks to him, okay, but there's also an irrational part that's freaking out.

Steve takes about as long as he needs to, and then grins when he comes out into the bedroom butt-naked and finds James standing by the bed. 'Cause James tried sitting on the bed, tried kneeling on it, tried lying down on it and then sitting a different way, then kneeling a different way. 

He was just trying to think of something else but now there Steve is and it occurs to him that he never hears the shower or anything, so Steve probably has like amazing soundproofing (which is like no _end_ of relief to James) but it means this was a total ambush.

James actually jumps.

“HI!” he doesn't mean to yell, and then, “ _Jesus._ ”

Steve laughs openly, absolutely delighted.

“Ahh, sorry, kid,” he says. And then he walks over to James and takes one of James' hands in his, laces the fingers. He kisses James softly, and then he pulls back a little, searches James' face as he smiles. “Okay?”

James nods, sighs through his nose.

“Yeah,” he says. “Nervous.”

Steve kisses him again.

“That's okay,” he says. “We'll talk a lot, go slow. Come on.”

They're not going far, as it turns out, but they are moving – Steve leads him around the bed, shifts the spare pillow so it's maybe halfway down the bed, maybe a little less, and then...

Well, James isn't really sure how he does it, because he kisses James at that point, but Steve sort of sits on the bed and takes James with him as he...rolls them both, or something and, when they stop rolling, Steve's head and shoulders are near-enough settled in the nest of pillows James made for him, and his hips are semi-on the spare pillow.

Ish.

“That was pretty smooth,” James tells him as he pushes himself up onto his knees.

“Shut up, smartass,” Steve says, but he's smiling.

He situates his shoulders a little better, tags clinking, and his dick does something pretty amazing when he lifts his hips to get the pillow where it's meant to be.

Once he's settled, he blows out a breath and smiles up at James where James in kneeling between his spread legs, Steve's feet flat on the mattress.

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hi,” James answers, and then he looks at Steve, and then looks at the stuff he's got on the bed. “So, uh...”

Steve waits a couple of seconds but guesses, correctly, that James doesn't know what to do.

“Okay,” he says, obviously trying hard not to smile. “You look like you just realized you left the damned oven on – how about you come back down here and kiss me and we'll go step by step, okay? Foreplay generally happens first.”

“Right!” James says. 

What's he even gonna do for foreplay? But Steve just reaches out for his hand and reels him in, down, and then Steve is kissing him and he can do that, that's fine but what's he gonna do for-

Steve opens his mouth under James', hums softly into his mouth and his limbs come up around James, one hand in his hair, the other sliding down his back to his ass, thighs hugging James' hips and okay-

Okay, that's a little better. Like he's....Okay, yeah, this isn't their first rodeo. He gets with the program a little more, props himself up on one forearm and then has to reconsider and prop himself up on his hand because Steve is thick with like at least four 'c's, and a forearm doesn't get James clear enough of Steve's torso to initiate.

Once he's all the way up on one hand, still kissing, he smooths the other down over Steve's skin, over one pec and the soft, almost delicate flesh of his nipple that hardens when he rubs his fingertips over it a little more, because if there's one thing James knows for sure, it's how much Steve likes his nipples played with. Steve smiles, James can feel it, his hand sliding up James' spine and back again – his hands are so _big_ and so _warm_ and James feels engulfed by them every time. 

James strokes the back of his hand down, over abs so defined that they're visible through clothes, backs of his knuckles against Steve's skin, and then grasps Steve's dick as tight as he can when he gets that far. Steve draws a deep breath in through his nose and then breaks the kiss to blow it back out again, blinking rapidly as he does.

“Uhn, wow,” he says. 

It's been like a day, James thinks - and they haven't had actual penetrative sex since Wednesday. But then James also doesn't really know how much attention Steve's libido needs before Steve starts getting antsy. He jacks Steve's dick a little, enjoys the way Steve's fingers twitch on his skin, the way Steve's breathing hitches just a bit, and smiles down at Steve. Steve looks a little more at ease like this, a little happier about himself, and James can't help smiling when he's looking at him anyway.

“Hmm, listen, couple things you oughta know,” Steve says, “I need a lot of prep, serum doesn't like to let people in. Good news for you though, so I'm told.”

James nods.

“Well I'm not rushing,” he says. “What's the other thing?”

Steve smiles, rolls one shoulder in a shrug, his eyes half closed.

“Feels good,” he says, and James smiles, ducks his head, comes back to kiss at Steve's throat, and Steve sighs at him happily, tilting his head back.

He shivers a moment later, laughs a low, rich chuckle by James' ear and spreads his legs a little more. It's weird how different this feels – not bad, not at all just... James feels...bigger like this. Like there's more of him in play, like he gets to take care of Steve a little bit. Like he's got more responsibility, maybe, and he kisses over Steve's neck and shoulders, working his other hand just slowly enough to take the edge off, bathing Steve's skin with his tongue in places.

Steve seems a bit better at allowing this today, James notices. Perhaps because they discussed it more than five seconds before hand, and James thinks he might do well to remember that next time. Surprise handjobs might be fun but carefully-discussed handjobs are probably likely to mean Steve's less tense, even though he consented on both occasions. 

Given what Steve said about his previous relationships, maybe he just needs a minute or two to get used to the idea. James can do that. 

“Okay?” he says, because Steve checks in with him a lot, and maybe he checks in a lot because he needs to be checked in on.

Steve proves him wrong, says,

“Hmmuh?” as though he's in the middle of a very nice massage or a particularly heavy nap, and then smiles. “Oh, yeah yeah, s'good.”

James scrapes his teeth over Steve's collar bones, sucks on nipple lightly and then lifts his head up and kisses Steve properly. It's nice, actually, to be able to do what he'd like to without worrying whether it's right or not – he knows what Steve likes already. He doesn't usually get this kind of free reign with partners – people his own age aren't as laid back as Steve can be, and the older partners he's had have preferred to take charge at all times.

“You okay if I get started?” James says, and Steve makes a noise through his nose that's high and soft and James is loath to call it a giggle but....

“Yes,” Steve says, casual tone but clear consent, and he wiggles a bit under James, gets a little further down the pillows which means that, when James lets go of his dick, Steve's hips are tilted up a little more.

James gets lube on his fingers as Steve reaches out and snags a condom off the nightstand.

“Optimistic,” he says, presumably on seeing how many there are, but James kneels up between Steve's legs and then, well.

Once Steve's put on the condom, James is still kind of just staring at him – he can...see...

 _Everything,_ actually, or near enough, because Steve puts one arm above his head a moment later, stretching out his torso as he spreads his legs. James wants so badly to do this, wants it like he's never wanted anything before.

“Take your time,” Steve says, and it's not even sarcasm, he's not even kidding. 

His eyes are half open and his body's laid out, and he's still taking the time to soothe where he can, smiling, waiting, as though he's got nothing better to do and could lie there all weekend if it took that long.

“I don't wanna-” James says, “I mean, I know you're-” but Steve understands, Steve's pulled enough from those few words to get his meaning.

“Being me doesn't mean I don't want you to be careful,” he says, “but I know you'll be careful. I'm not sure you could find anyone less capable of being hurt and I heal really fast but the point is, James,” and he takes James' dry hand in one of his own, “you're not gonna hurt me. Are you?”

“No!” James says, and Steve squeezes his fingers. “Not on purpose.”

“Not at all,” Steve says. “You're too aware of me for that. You'll be fine.”

James finds this more than a little absurd – he's about to fuck Steve but Steve's the one comforting him? 

James decides that he's doing this, he'll get this right, he's going to make this good for Steve, so he reaches forward with just his slick fingertips, circles Steve's hole with his-

“ _Oh,_ Jeez,” Steve laughs, “sorry.” He lets go of James' hand to cover his mouth as he laughs. “I didn't realize, sorry. Please, don't let me stop you.”

James just looks at him, finds himself smiling. He goes back to what he was doing, circles Steve's hole with his fingertips and Steve makes a funny little noise that James almost doesn't hear over the music, halfway between a sigh and a groan, his head tipping back. 

“You like that?” James says, somehow surprised, and Steve cracks one eye open, probably to check that wasn't sarcasm.

“Yeah,” he says. “I love all of it, that's why I asked you.”

And that, that figures. Well, James knew, really. But repeatedly hearing that Steve wants this for himself instead of just wanting James to try it is something he's happy with. Steve can tell him as many times as possible, thanks. 

“Go ahead, try one,” Steve says, “'m feelin' pretty good.”

James scrapes his teeth over his lower lip, watches Steve stroke a palm down his chest, and then, he does. Free hand against Steve's inner thigh, he uses just his middle finger, nice and slow and Steve-

Steve groans softly in the back of his throat and then tenses, James sees it. He also feels what did it, rubbing over Steve's prostate again just to watch it happen a second time. 

Steve gasps and then smiles, shaking his head a little as he looks away. When he looks back, he looks James up and down and nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “I'm pretty confident you know what you're doing.”

James smiles a little, starts easing his finger back and forth, twisting his wrist a little.

And it's at this point that Steve's surprises him, smiling over a full-throated moan before he bites his lip and seems to kind of...flex his whole body really. Which is a reaction James hasn't had (or, more accurately, hasn't _heard_ ) from him before. 

When Steve drops his hand a moment later and pulls his cock lazily, James hesitates for a moment before following through on the first plan that came to him – he lifts his other hand from Steve's thigh and takes hold of Steve's wrist, and then moves it away.

Steve's eyes open and he looks at James in mild surprise, although he's definitely smiling, A moment later, he settles both his hands well out of the way and chuckles, almost bashfully. 

James just smiles, but he's learned the value of sexual benevolence, and gives Steve's cock a stroke or two for good measure, spends a few seconds rubbing his frenulum with one hand before using the other to sink his finger all the way in. This time, he doesn't draw it back to thrust, he just 'come-hithers' it on the inside for a while, and Steve's expression falters, eyebrows drawing together before he pants out a breath. Then he holds it, James can hear him.

“Breathe,” James says experimentally, and Steve's head rocks back into the pillows as he moans.

That one's loud – gives James goosebumps – and then Steve's spreading his legs a little wider, making fists in the fitted sheet while James doesn't let up. It's just one finger but James knows his own body, and has experience, and has honest to goodness been thinking about this for years, so his technique is pretty good.

He keeps going, palm up, moves his finger a little more firmly, uses the backs of his other fingers to rub against the skin either side of Steve's perineum, either side of the root of his dick, and then he knows what he wants to try next.

“Tell me when I can give you another,” James says, with a confidence he's only starting to feel.

“Hhyeah,” Steve answers, strained, unsteady, and James smiles.

He hears his music on the edge of his perception and then he spends about five seconds trying not to pump his finger in time with the beat of it. But then he figures why not? It gives him something to work to. Steve, however, isn't expecting the change in tempo, and his breath hitches, his hips dip down just a little. He gives maybe two harsh breaths and then draws in a huge lungful and groans at James, and...

Okay, this, this is worth the nerves.

“Quit faking,” he says, half in jest, and Steve says,

“I- _I'm_ \- ah _notfaking oh_ -”

and James can see he's starting to loosen up. 

"Yeah, yeah," Steve says, "okay, now."

James draws out just a little and makes sure there's plenty of lube on him before he tries the middle and index fingers together, but there's no problem, it's _easy_ , and Steve says, 

“Oh- hah, uhn,” on a breath.

James doesn't think he's coming but even if he is, it doesn't matter – he keeps on going, just lets his fingers sink in to tight, slick heat and then twists his wrist just to make sure Steve is getting what he needs. He presses his fingers against the sides of Steve's hole, pushing against muscle that's turning pliant just to make sure it's doing so, and Steve almost says something, except he doesn't get to:

James is already changing what he's doing when Steve opens his mouth, two fingers in up to the knuckle that he pulls back with, curls hard over and over, and he rubs hard against Steve's perineum on the outside with his thumb, too.

“Fuck, oh _fuck_ ,” Steve says, keeping his hips where they are, which is rather impressive when the rest of his body seems to be trying to make a break for it up the bed. “ _James!_ James, that's- Yeah, yeah, God, I-”

He swallows hard, writhes a little on the bed and yeah, James will happily make him do _that_ again, wow. 

James looks at him, watches him, takes him in – the sweat on his collar bones, how dark and hard his nipples are, how his tags have ended up over one shoulder, the sweep of dark blond in his underarms and the shape of his massive rib cage, the way his cock is up and hard and flushed inside the condom, instead of just lying against his thigh.

“Take the condom off,” James says, without knowing he's going to say it.

“Huh?” Steve answers, sounding very distant, and James uses his free hand to grasp the base of Steve's cock, hold it upright.

“Take the condom off,” he repeats, and Steve looks at him a little blearily, his breathing labored, and sort of frowns down at his dick like he's surprised to see it.

“Uh,” he says, but he does, content to let James hold his dick upright for him - strips the condom off and chucks it at the floor before he drops his head back into the pillows, and James strokes him for it, gets his hand around Steve's dick and makes his fingers tight, moves both hands together, keeps one aim in mind. “Sh- _it!_ ” Steve spits, slaps the mattress with open palms. “Wait, _fuck,_ I'm gonna come so fast-”

“Yeah, that's fine, you can manage more than one, right?”

“Oh, fuck, yeah, sure if you -” 

But then his hands fist in the sheet and his his goes back, his back arches, and then he makes a noise that sounds like sort of a mixture of shock and outrage and is absolutely neither.

“Ohn, fuck, _fuck_ -” his head snaps forward and he comes all over James' fingers and his own stomach, clenching hard down and down and down on James' fingers as he gasps desperately, and James skin prickles because, yeah actually, the sounds Steve's making fill the whole place.

James pushes him a little - squeezes tighter, moves faster, rubs harder – and Steve's body moves in a way that suggests his limbs are doing whatever they want without consulting him first.

He gasps, does it again and then groans through his teeth, 

“Fu-uck- Ah! James, stop-” and Steve shoves himself up and grabs James' wrists, “ _stop,_ stop...”

James already has stopped, and knows he's smirking, but he lets go of Steve's dick and stills his other hand.

Steve lets go of him just as quickly as he grabbed him, flops back into the pillows as though he's been dropped from a great height and lies there gasping, making soft little sounds as he breathes.

James curls his fingers just the once to feel Steve tighten up around him again, to listen to the harsh, surprised, “Hah!” Steve makes.

And then Steve's voice quiets little by little, each breath begins to come little more easily. James grabs a wet wipe and cleans Steve's dick off, his stomach, gets another and wipes his hand before dropping the wipes off the bed to join the condom. 

Steve rolls his head on the pillows, drops his chin to his chest to look at James' face where James kneels over him.

“Sorry,” he says. 

“Thought I told you to stop faking,” James answers, and Steve nods.

“You're right, I'm not sorry,” he breathes. “I'd do it again, too - watch your fingers and come kiss me.”

James smiles, is careful when he moves, and kisses Steve because Steve wants him to and he wants to, too. The temptation to move his fingers is strong, but he resists. Steve's face changes just a little when James moves back to where he was, but James is well aware how careful he needs to be when he's got his fingers inside someone, and he grabs for the lube with his free hand once he's settled again. 

He gets a ton in his palm – rather too much than too little – and withdraws his fingers for a moment to coat them. 

This time, when he pushes them in, Steve's head goes back immediately, his fingers white-knuckled in the sheet, and he knees twitch inward. One leg even presses right up against James' side, it comes in so far. 

“Ohh,” Steve says, rough and low, but he's smiling, his chest lifts as he draws a long breath. “James,” he says, but it comes out a moan and James bites back one of his own. 

Third finger's an easy fit now – he was loose enough before and orgasm seems to have helped – and Steve makes a helpless kind of noise, higher than James is used to hearing from him and much more desperate. It's something James is going to treasure for a while, that's for sure.

“You want another?” James asks, and Steve looks down the length of his body to watch James' hand move between his legs, looks almost pained and then flicks his gaze up to James', mouth hanging open.

He shakes his head as he wets his lips, runs his palms over his body from his pecs to his inner thighs and then spreads his legs a little more.

“No,” he says, “won't need it.”

James nods and runs his free hand down Steve's thigh to the back of his knee. “Shoulder,” he says, and Steve complies with a moan that suggests moving his calf to James' shoulder gives him a lot to think about elsewhere, too. 

James kisses the side of Steve's shin because it's right there – corded muscle and smooth skin, coarse, pale hair and clean sweat – and one of Steve's hands reaches out for him between Steve's legs, the tips of his fingers brushing James' thigh, his ribcage. The only reasons Steve can reach are because he's so big compared to James, his arms so long – if he were James' size, he'd never manage - and because he's got pillows under his head and his hips. James takes his wandering hand for a moment, squeezes his fingers before Steve lets go to grab at the bedclothes again. 

Steve isn't ready for James just yet but that's fine, James will be happy to watch him like this for a while yet. He's seen videos like this online – resolves to watch more for research, because if every huge guy who gets it from a little dude is this attractive when he's bottoming, James-

Who is James kidding? He's never going to need another video in his life. The music they're listening too though? Yeah, James will never be able to hear it in public again. It's a sacrifice he's willing to make.

Steve reaches for him again, manages to reach right down the outside of his own leg and hook his fingers in the back of James' knee – it's not as difficult as it could be given that Steve's head and shoulders are propped up, his hips are tilted – he's actually kinda crunched up if James thinks about it, and James considers moving all the pillows so that Steve has the room to flail if he needs to.

He prefers this, though, especially when Steve's fingers tighten on the back of his knee.

“Fuck,” Steve mutters, and James doesn't think he's heard Steve swear this much in one sitting before.

“This okay?” James checks again, and Steve laughs a little reedily, rolls his head on the pillow.

“I'm,” he says, “are you kidding? Yeah, I'm-” he gasps. “That's so-”

He makes a lovely little noise then, a beautiful little thing, short and strained, like the sound is stretched thin across his ribcage, drawn tight in his throat, and shakes his head, fingers clenching and unclenching, one in the sheet and one on James' skin. 

“Sorry, it's been like...ha, God, months, sorry-”

James smiles, can't help it.

“It's okay,” he says. 

“Sorry,” Steve says again, and James chuckles.

He knows how nice it is to listen to a guy like Steve make the kind of soft little desperate noises he's making, but he didn't know until recently how nice it is to _actually listen to Steve_ , and not just the noises either. Right now, he's sort of got a handle on himself, except that James is massaging his prostate nice and slow, and he's breathing like he's walking on hot coals and trying not to admit it – fast and shallow and hitching in a way that suggests he won't be able to maintain it for long.

He says 'oh' like it's a breath he couldn't manage to make silent, and he starts doing it every time he breathes – a soft, rich litany of surprised half-moans and heavy breaths that shudder past lips he's bitten red, louder and louder over James' music. 

“Gimme the,” he says, hand on James' leg pulling just a little, “oh f-,” he says, failing on the fricative, and he swallows hard, gives a couple of fast little gasps and blows a breath out through pursed lips.

James length is more impressive than his girth and he's pretty sure he knows what Steve said is true – Steve would probably be able to take him now. But James certainly isn't going to push him when he hasn't heard for sure, and why would he when Steve sounds like this?

“You,” Steve says, “condom?” 

And James hadn't thought that far ahead, really – hadn't decided on anything that wasn't Steve-right-now. He glances at the nightstand, and Steve shakes his head.

“Nah,” Steve tells him, “doesn't matter, just-” 

He looks amazing like this, like he's barely holding onto his self control, like his body's already at capacity. His muscles are standing out, there's a tension to his tendons, and James can see him fighting to hold on just that little bit longer. 

“Get in me,” he says on a breath, grabbing for James with the other hand, too, “James,” and James finds it's then that he falters, surprised into inaction.

Steve squirms, pulls at him, trying to draw him down.

“Come on, kid,” he says, and James can hear how hard his body's working, becomes aware of how hard his own is holding back as though his existence has been secondary this whole time.

“You don't want a condom?” 

“James I don' wanna condom, I want you to _fuck me,_ ” he says in a rush, and James isn't sure what to do with that information so he doesn't do anything.

Steve shakes his head, drops his calf off James' shoulder as he lets go of James' leg and makes a grab for his head instead, trying to pull him down.

It sort of works – James doubles over and follows him down, and it's as Steve kisses him that he sort of comes back to himself and remembers that in order to really be doing this, he's actually going to have to really do it.

“Uh,” he says when they break apart, and Steve's attitude visibly changes.

For a moment, he looks annoyed, jaw tight, and James panics internally for a second because it looks like Steve is royally pissed but then, _then_ Steve pushes out a long breath through pursed lips again, draws another deep one and tips his head back, does it again and the next breath in doesn't hiss as much, and James realizes this isn't what Steve looks like when James has pissed him off during sex, this is what Steve looks like when he's so turned on that he physically has to make himself calm down during sex.

James is flattered and shocked, if he's perfectly honest, and it's once Steve's body lies a little lower on the mattress, once his whole frame isn't quite as painfully tense, that he slides his hands down from James' head and neck over his chest, around his toso.

“Take your fingers outta me,” he says softly, looking right into James' eyes, and James isn't sure he'd have the confidence for that if their positions were reversed. 

James does, slowly, watches Steve's chin lift, his mouth drop open a little more, a furrow flicker between his eyebrows as he huffs out a breath. 

“Take your time,” he says, until James can hear the music over his heartbeat in his ears again, can hear Steve carefully controlling his breathing to make it as steady as possible. 

Steve's hands slip down to his ass, clutch at him, and James looks down, then tries to remember where the lube is. 

He spots it, grabs it, gets way too much on his dick and then-

Steve doesn't want a condom, he's about to fuck Steve Rogers bareback, seriously, how has James managed to get this lucky? 

“That's it,” Steve says, fast and high like he was holding his breath before he said it, and then he proves it by holding his breath again. “That's, yeah, that's it, that-”

And James lines himself up – Steve is hot and wet and slick – and bites his lip and squeezes the base of his cock as he presses forward. He watches, fascinated, can't help wanting to see, and he sees the moment Steve's body gives and lets him in, fractions of a second before he feels it, a tidal wave of pleasure coming up around him like being lowered into molasses, and Steve says, 

“Ah!”and then, “Ah-a, _ah-_ ” and then, because this is James' life, from the other room a voice says,

“ _KICK OFF SUMMER WITH BIG DEALS AT DICK'S SPORTING GOODS-”_

And, for a split-second, Steve's expression goes blank with confusion and then he says, helpless,

“Aha, ah- _Haaah!_ ” and James doesn't think he's ever heard anyone laugh through an orgasm before but he and Steve are getting lots of firsts, so it would seem.

As 'Dicks Sporting Goods' tell him via Spotify just what he could be paying as little as, Steve shoves at the mattress, head back, eyes closed, drawing huge lungful after huge lungful as he spasms around James' dick, coming across his abs as his whole face creases up with how hard he's laughing. 

It's hard to tell, out of all the broad, hard vowels he's getting pretty loud with, which is the fun stuff and which is the amusement, but James is still inside him and apparently making someone laugh during sex means their body does life-changing things to your dick.

James plants his hands and holds on and Steve laughs like he's never going to breathe properly again, still going well after the ad has ended, pressing his hand to his stomach as his shoulders flinch in, occasionally interspersing all the noise with the type of 'Oh's and 'Ah's that signal just how little choice he's got about either of the things going on, dick still twitching against his lower stomach.

And then finally, after once false stop and a very long wind down, Steve is lying gasping, chuckling, underneath James, skin flushed and sweaty, one hand on his stomach and the other reaching up for James.

“ _Man,_ am I buying you premium,” he says, and pulls James down for another kiss.

When they part, James can't help grinning too, halfway between embarrassed and amused himself, and Steve seems to settle himself a little, rearranging his limbs and unwinding a bit.

“Mmmmh, sorry,” he says, but he says it on the kind of sigh that says you've eaten well or you're ready for bed – satisfied. “That should be it for a little while, try me now.”

James isn't sure what he means for a moment, but Steve touches him wherever he can reach, warm hands on James' skin, eyes half closed and sparkling. He flexes his hips up just a little, wets his lips and then scrapes his teeth over the lower one.

“Come on, I should be a little more fun now.”

James feels his eyebrows go up, but he smiles anyway.

“Nah, you're definitely fun already,” he says, and Steve is smiling against his mouth when they kiss again.

He draws back to see what happens and, true to his word, Steve looks a lot more able to handle it now, smiling and breathing slow and even instead of grappling for control over himself. So James pushes back and Steve clenches down on him and-

 _Wow_ -

“Hauugh,” James says without meaning to, and Steve's eyes crinkle up at the corner as he smiles wide enough to show his teeth, rubbing his fingertips behind James' ear, pulling James down to mouth at his throat. “Fuck that's...”

“It's tight, I know,” Steve says, hot against James' ear. “Serum. Go right ahead.”

James is going to have a hard time doing anything but, actually. The next thrust in is deep enough that Steve chuckles against his skin, deep enough that James' knees slide a little on the fitted sheet, and he pulls back and drives back in again a moment later – he doesn't think he's ever felt someone this tight before, tips his head back and grits his teeth.

“God, are you sure you're-” he says, but Steve strokes his hair, the back of his head, between his shoulderblades, down his flank.

“I promise,” he says, kissing James' temple, his jaw. “I'm good,” and then, in a voice so low James feels it in his chest, “as many times as you want.”

James hears himself groan, feels his body wind up and its' like he's never done this before, like he's never actually been inside anyone or in charge of anyone, and he doesn't even manage a rhythm for the first couple of thrusts. He knows Steve's noticed because he can hear Steve's amusement the next time he makes a noise, but he knows that Steve isn't making fun because, firstly, Steve's in no position to be making fun of anyone and, second, Steve flat out wouldn't. 

But then James gets the hang of it – manages to plant his body properly and snap his hips just so and that's so, oh that's so-

He groans at Steve, tries to think about something that isn't how hot and how tight and how _good_ he feels, but it's not easy to think past it.

“Mmh, yeah,” Steve murmurs in James' ear, “that's it,” soft little sounds that are meant to encourage while he pulls James close with every thrust, tags clinking again with the way James moves their bodies.

He pushes himself up onto his hands and then he realizes his mistake because now he's looking at Steve, whose upper body is nestled in cushions, whose skin is smooth and flawless and aglow with a post-orgasmic flush that makes him almost luminous, his gaze knowing and unwavering, one corner of his beautiful mouth turned up just enough to be sultry, and how is James meant to hold back when he's looking at that?

Steve looks like he belongs in a ray of sunlight or surrounded by fireflies, sated and sexy and absolutely everything that James wants to look at.

“Oh fuck you're gorgeous,” he says, and Steve's smile grows though his mouth stays closed, he stares at James from under long, long lashes, and lets James jolt his body with every thrust.

When James starts to speed up, starts really driving into him, Steve lets his mouth drop open, starts to moan along with him, starts nodding and murmuring and encouraging James to go faster, harder, 

“that's it, you're so good-”

James bites his lip, has to wet them 'cause he's breathing so hard, thinks his arms might cramp and his toes might seize but he's so close, he can feel it buzzing under his skin like something alive, running through his blood and winding higher with each thrust.

He can hear himself moaning, can hear the little noises he's making but Steve just makes them with him, as though this is the best thing he's ever felt despite the fact that he's already had two orgasms, as though all he wants from sex is more of James, and James feels his eyes roll back, feels himself stiffen up and shudder to a halt and it's like all of his senses have forgotten how to work at once, like all of the things he can hear and feel and everything, just everything, is here and now and Steve and him, and he comes so hard it makes him see little stars in his vision, makes it hard to get a full breath in.

He feels it sap his energy, feels it swallow him up and ripple out across his skin and Steve, for his part, is pulling him close and stroking his skin, clenching down on him and hugging his body with his legs. James thinks he could get lost like this – sink into Steve and disappear and wouldn't that be a hell of a way to go?

Steve doesn't stop him either, when the ability to move comes back to him and he chases the orgasm with snaps of his hips that he's not fully responsible for orchestrating. Steve just smiles, almost laughs, apparently delighted, and James thrusts and thrusts and moans and shudders until he can't any more, until sparks flash behind his eyelids and his breaths are broken gasps, and then he slows, drops his head to Steve's chest.

“Mmmh, sweetheart,” he groans, low and rough and sweet, “think you got another one in you?”

James says,

“ _Oh_ ,” and then drops the rest of his weight onto Steve, grateful when Steve folds him up in one of those all-encompassing hugs and strokes his back while James tries to breathe.

Wherever their skin touches, they're slick, sweating hard enough that there's no friction, and Steve moves a little here and then, tightens certain muscles once in a while, so that James' oversensitive dick stays interested. Nobody else has done this to him, nobody else has pushed him for more than one at a time. But then again, Steve comes even faster than he does, most of the time, so why would Steve need to tell him to slow down?

It's a refreshing change that Steve wants more, but Steve always wants more, and James has his heart set on giving it to him.

“Were you always like this?” he says, and Steve scrapes blunt fingernails up James' spine. 

“Always,” he says. “Didn't used to be able to get it up every time, before the serum, so there was never any reason to stop.”

“Oh my God, you're insatiable.”

“Mhm,” Steve answers. “Someone I love very much taught me how to appreciate it. You wanna stop?”

“Ugh, God,” James says, against Steve's shoulder this time, and he wriggles a little, gasps when Steve clenches down again.

“I could ride you,” he says and if James hadn't been fully committed to the next round before – which he totally was – then he would be now. 

“You can ride me for my birthday,” James tells him, and he gets himself onto his forearms and pulls out. 

Steve moans softly when he does, but doesn't get the chance to ask questions.

“Turn over,” James says. “Get on all fours, I wanna really go at it.”

Steve grins, bright and wide and blinding, and he sits up as James backs off, shoves at all the pillows and then gets onto his hands and knees, drops his chest to the mattress and James just grabs two handfuls of his ass and squeezes. 

Steve absolutely blows James' mind a second later, reaching back to sink two fingers into himself – he's still slick with lube and James' come, but he groans as he pushes in and spreads his knees a little wider.

“Come on,” he says, “'fore you need to prep me again.”

James nods, bites his lip and figures that if they didn't use a condom before, they don't need one now, and he spreads Steve with both hands, waits for Steve to withdraw his fingers before he rubs the head of his dick over Steve's hole.

The sparkle of all that blond peach fuzz sweeping up over the back of Steve's thighs and ass is going to be the death of James.

“Yeah, that's it,” Steve says, reaching down instead to pull his cock, and James sinks in in one slow thrust, bottoms out and they groan together. “ _Fuck_ yeah,” Steve whispers. 

He's too tall for James, so James shoves at one of Steve's calves, and he gets the hint spreads his legs even more, ass still up but more level with James' dick, and James pushes against the muscle of Steve's ass and goes hard and fast as he can. 

It's too intense, he feels too much, but he'll have to quit if he takes it slow and there's no way he's quitting now.

“Ah, ohn, _ohn_ ,” he says, and Steve just hums in agreement underneath him, chuckles and gasps and moans when James moans and it's not fair, James can hear that Steve's not as far gone as he is – Steve's already come like twice, how can James be closer to coming than he is?

He pushes Steve's leg again, leans up and forward and then, when Steve drops his ass a little more, angles his dick just so, fucking over Steve's prostate. Steve's whole body spasms, his arms shoot out, and he looses a moan so raw and so loud that there's no way he meant to do it, and then his spine bows upward.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps, and James tongues at his spine, sinks his teeth into the back of Steve's shoulder, plasters himself to Steve's back and wraps one arm around Steve's chest to keep him still while he jackrabbits his hips and listens to Steve struggle for air. “Oh, Go- _Oh my God_ -”

So they both come in seconds, who cares when it feels this good?

Steve keens through his teeth and kind of rears back a little, one hand thumping down on the bedclothes, the other grabbing for his dick, and James does it for him, strokes him hard and fast so that he says,

“Ah, ah, ah,” too fast for his lungs, so that his body twitches, so he clamps down tight enough to pull James' orgasm from him like taffy, on and on and _on_ , and James doesn't let up 'cause his body won't let him, going and going until he thinks maybe his legs are going to stop working. He holds onto Steve because his arms don't let go, Steve just keeps on making those gorgeous little noises, and then, little by little, the buzzing dies down and his lungs start to want air again and he just stays there, pressed right up against Steve, who's breathing hard, hair sodden, skin slick.

“Fuck,” James mutters, because _fuck_.

Steve laughs unsteadily and pants as he pushes up onto his hands, half a press-up that takes James up with him. 

He turns his head back and James presses his forehead to Steve's cheekbone over his shoulder. 

“Hmm,” Steve says. “You were pretty quiet, kid, you sure you're havin' a good time?”

Which James supposes is true. If you can't breathe, you can't make noise. How about that? Still...

“Fuck you, old man,” he answers, but he kisses the back of Steve's shoulder, the top of his spine, cranes his neck to kiss him proper and then follows the line of his cheekbone with his mouth, chest to Steve's back - his whole front to Steve's back, actually. 

Wet wipes aren't going to cut it, not now, but James pulls out and rolls aside to rest for a minute or five while his knees unbend and his fingers unclench, and Steve slumps down to lie on his stomach, head turned towards him.

“So,” he says, but he doesn't follow it up, smiling lazily.

“Yeah,” James says, staring at the ceiling while his brain comes back online. 

He'll help Steve change the bedclothes because there's probably a lot of reason to change the bedclothes now. 

But then he thinks of something.

“Do people really not eat your cooking?”

Steve laughs, turns his head to press his face into the mattress a moment, probably scratching an itch he can't be bothered lifting a hand for as the sweat starts to dry on his skin. When he looks back, he rolls onto his side and, yeah, he's a mess. 

So is James. It's nice.

“To be fair, it's like a defense mechanism,” he says, still breathing a little funny. “You know, 'fool me once.' I mean, I'm Irish and I grew up in the Depression – all I knew how to make when I was reanimated was boiled potatoes. My cooking was _atrocious._ ”

James looks him up and down.

“Hmm, more for me,” he says with half a shrug.

Steve smiles a warm, private little thing and leans forward, shuffles his head and shoulders to James and kisses him.

“All for you,” he says.

James sits up on the bed and bites his lip as he runs a hand down Steve's back, because...

Well.

Steve wiggles a little, good at figuring things out, and James carefully leans over him, spreads Steve with hands that are gentler now than they were before and looks because he can. 

Steve's hole is pink and wet, if not loose, slick with lube and come, the swell of his balls full and soft between his legs. 

“That's your fault,” Steve says, good naturedly, while James wills his face not to actually burst into real flames. 

_James did that_.

He flops back onto the bed on his side and kisses Steve, nice and sloppy, can't even pretend to dampen his grin, rubbing his fingers over the slick, furled flesh as he does. Steve moans into his mouth, soft but happy, and James resists the urge to try and sink his fingers in. Now that he's sure he can ask, he's going to be asking a whole lot more. 

~

They both shower because they need to shower.

It's nice, actually – Steve takes him in the big walk-in and gets James' legs around his hips and pins him to a wall and makes out with him while they pretend to get clean. James doesn't actually really need to shower with _quite_ the same amount of necessity that Steve does, so he's first out, and he goes downstairs in his baggy mountain tank and Steve's boxers. He took the collar off to shower and doesn't put it back on for the time being – he's still a little damp and doesn't want to chafe. 

James goes through the kitchen cupboards while he's downstairs – a little guiltily because it's not his apartment, but fairly confident that Steve won't berate him for it all the same. Steve takes a long time in the shower, and James doesn't get distracted by what he might be doing because he's trying to make dinner. 

What he finds, actually, is the ingredients to make a full English for both of them. Despite the time of day, he sets about it – they've used lots of energy, right? So he sets about it. 

By the time Steve comes downstairs, in a pair of track pants and a shirt that's....somehow loose on him, wow James didn't think they manufactured shirts like that, James is well into the cooking process, and Steve comes over to him, slides his arms around James' waist and under the hem of his shirt to flatten his palms on James' stomach. 

He mouths at James' neck and hums against his skin, and James smiles, keeps on doing what he's doing.

“Oh, so you're actin' all sweet on me now?” James says. 

“Pretty sure I was actin' sweet on you before,” Steve answers, and James laughs.

“Ah but you ain't all masterful now, who'd'a thought? All it takes is a little givin' you what you asked for.”

It's true, in one respect – Steve is very cuddly, and proceeds to prove it while James is trying to cook. It's as though he doesn't want to be too far away from him, and James does notice, despite the fact that Steve is very affectionate in general. 

“Whassamatter, you?” he says, when the last of the food is busy cooking and he has a spare few minutes to turn around and sling his arms over Steve's shoulders. 

“Oh, nothin'” Steve answers, smiling wide and soft while they get a little cozier. “ 'S Just nice is all. I like all'a this snuggle stuff.”

“Snuggle stuff?” James says, like it's a revelation. “Ah, I see. The three orgasms weren't enough for you?”

Steve pauses, squints like he's trying to remember something.

“Might have had another one in the shower,” Steve says.

James snorts.

~

They eat in the reading lounge area because Steve takes a seat at the table, turns pink and stands up immediately. 

“How 'bout somewhere with cushions?” he says, and James, startled into a laugh, follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Bin and ExtraneousAdverbs for info on commercials


	3. Chapter 3

For lunch on Sunday, Steve makes chicken Caesar salad. James wakes up halfway through because Steve is busy cooking the chicken breasts in the marinade he made last night, and they smell _amazing_.

James comes downstairs in the bedsheet, hoping to be all coy and affectionate and subtly sexy-slash-distracting, because Steve's been out all morning and James wants him a lot, but he forgets because food, and because he finds Steve at the hob with his pale-blue button down open all the way down past his pecs, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, in pinstripe navy pants and without any socks.

He's shaven which...wow, James must have slept through a lot this morning.

“Good afternoon,” Steve says, without turning his head. “Chicken Caesar?”

James nods, then realizes Steve can't see him nod if he's not looking at him, serum or no. 

“Yes please,” he says. “What are you doing to it?”

“Chicken breasts are in the marinade, iceberg lettuce and tomatoes, I made the dressing about ten minutes ago-” he points at a jug and oh my god, seriously, he _made_ the dressing? “-and then it'll be croutons and bacon, and the Parmesan and anchovies'll go on last. Anything you object to in there?” 

“No!” James says. “That sounds amazing!”

Steve flashes him a smile, very obviously takes in the fact that the sheet wrapped around James' waist is all he's wearing, and then goes back to the cooking.

“Did you buy any of it from the store?” James asks, taking a seat at the table. 

“The mayo,” he answers. “But only because I didn't have time to make it.”

“I am gonna have to step up my workouts,” James tells him. “Unless you'd prefer me a lot more squishable.”

“I'm a supersoldier,” Steve answers. “I have lifted cars in emergencies, so however you are is just fine by me. But if you want to work out some, I've got equipment everywhere. There is a pool here, too-”

“What the fuck,” James says, and Steve laughs.

“It's underground,” he answers. “Right under us now, actually – where the parking garage stops, the pool starts. I didn't do a great job with the tour, did I?”

James shakes his head.

“I guess not,” he says. “You must have missed that out.”

“How remiss of me,” he answers. “I'm sure I'll find a way to make it up to you.”

James doesn't doubt that at all.

“It's small compared with the one at the tower,” Steve continues, “but I prefer it, it's more cozy. Not as sterile-looking. I can swim lengths at the tower but I'd rather fool around downstairs.”

“I can't believe you've got two pools,” James says.

Steve rolls one shoulder.

“Yeah, me either,” he says. “I wouldn't have either one if they hadn't been installed as a surprise-”

“A surprise!?” 

“-Tony Stark is a well-meaning lunatic. But there we are. The one downstairs isn't in use at the moment. It's empty, I don't have the lights or the A/C or the filters running – it's an extravagance I'm not always comfortable with. But we'll see how things go – if we spend more time here and you'd benefit from it, I'm sure I'll fill it again. I can invite some friends around, make sure it's getting good use.”

James just blinks at his back. 

“Where do I get friends who'll install swimming pools for me as a surprise.”

Steve laughs. 

“Trust me, it's more trouble than it's worth. But there are some things I can do for you, I'm sure.”

James waves a hand at him, suddenly embarrassed.

“No,” he says, “it's fine, there's nothing I need.”

Steve nods.

“That's fair enough,” he says, and then points to the laptop over by the reading section. “You now have Spotify premium, by the way.”

James covers his eyes with his hand.

“Right,” he says. “Thanks. There's nothing _else_ I need.”

Steve just laughs again.

~

When Steve sets the meals down, James' eyes are already wide.

“This looks amazing,” James says.

Steve finishes saying grace and smiles. 

“Good,” he says.

The chicken breast looks almost burned, but it's not. He's cooked it in a soy-smoke marinade that...he can't remember if he adapted it from a recipe or was just throwing things together he thought might be nice, but whatever. It works. Steve's sliced it cleanly and arranged it as artfully as possible on a bed of dressed salad and bacon, interspersed with hard croutons. Chicken Caesar is his favorite salad, and he's determined that it's not just because he puts bacon in it. He likes the dressing, he's a big fan of cheese, and it's yet another thing that he can make relatively easily but will turn out just fine. Plus it's refreshing in a way that hot meals can't be. Like vichyssoise. 

He'll have to make vichyssoise some time for them, he hasn't had it in ages. There's a cucumber variant that's pretty delicious, too. He stops thinking about it before he decides that making it right now this minute would be a good idea, and opts for eating lunch instead.

James tucks in immediately, and Steve watches him for a moment or two. Having his cooking appreciated is nice for a change. 

Actually, he's glad the ex conversation happened when it did – there's a lot about James that's nice for a change. James likes his cooking. James enjoys sex as often as Steve does. James doesn't object when Steve anticipates what he wants, doesn't get angry when Steve has Avenging to do, James is easygoing and liberal and James likes to indulge and be indulged and...

“You know, I'm lucky I met you,” he says. 

James crunches through a mouthful of lettuce and smiles with his cheeks full. Once he's managed to swallow his mouthful he says,

“Me too,” and Steve looks at him. “Like you have no idea. I'm the luckiest guy in probably the world, but I'll say the state of New York so you don't think I'm exaggerating.”

Steve huffs a laugh through his nose. He's not sure quite what he's done to get this. This is one of those good things that's grown roots inside of him, feels like a part of him. James is probably only wearing the sheet right now, and he's young and toned and good-looking and smart, and he holds conversations with Steve, and smiles at Steve's jokes, and likes Steve's paintings.

He sticks a foot out under the table, rubs his instep against James' leg. James' smile grows.

Steve goes back to his salad – he is hungry, that's for sure. He doesn't eat breakfast on Sundays and he had a nice workout last night, thanks. He got up on time today but it's hard to want to leave when there's a soft and rumpled twenty-one year old in his bed surrounded by clean sheets and fluffy pillows. 

It's been a while since he's had that kind of reluctance, actually – what he does with Clint and Nat is certainly fun, but this runs deeper. He doesn't, for example, remember the last day he spent with James that he began by actually going running. For the first time in his life since he joined the army, he's willingly spending mornings in bed.

It feels hugely decadent, scandalously overindulgent, and he _loves_ it. He feels new, younger, more open, less tense – he tries not to think too hard about it because a little voice in the back of his head always tries, at times like these, to convince him that the universe will balance out all this good somehow, but here he is, at his table with his twenty-one year old lover, eating salad on a Sunday afternoon. 

He smiles at James and finds...

James is...not eating. Or even really looking at him, actually – James is daydreaming. And that's fine, of course, his mouth is open and his eyes are half-closed, and he's going a little pink over the bridge of his nose. 

“What are you thinking about?” Steve says, hiding his smirk as best he can.

James' eyes focus up again, and then his gaze slides over to Steve, skin getting even pinker.

“Oh, it's just a...” he waves a hand.

It's very obvious what James is thinking about – at least, what the subject pertains to. Steve looks at him, holds his gaze, raises one eyebrow. Waits.

“Uh...” James says. Then he clears his throat. “Well, I mean.”

This is something Steve has learned from years spent working with SHIELD – implication and intimidation are often (although, obviously, not always) useful interrogation techniques. If you don't speak after they've given you information, your captive assumes you're dissatisfied with the answer, and waiting for a better one. And if they assume you're waiting, they'll often fill the silence with information. The less you say, the more they infer, and the more they'll tell you. It doesn't work with everyone and he feels a little guilty using the technique on James but, by the time he realizes he's doing it, James is already speaking.

“It's just you keep cooking and stuff and it's...just...nice, I like the, you-”

James sighs through his nose, scrubs his hand over his face.

“James,” Steve says softly, meaning to tell him that he doesn't have to answer if he doesn't want to, but James interrupts.

“I think about sex a lot,” he says, which is no surprise at all because he's twenty-one, “and I have like a million fantasies,” which is not _much_ of a surprise beyond the fact that his brain waits long enough to construct a story before he gets off, “and you're in like all of them now and there's a bunch I want you to do to me and there's a bunch I want to do to you and I get distracted about it all the time and the salad is great, really, it is, but you're sitting there in that shirt and I want you to fuck me but I'm hungry but I want you to fuck me.” He sighs. “But I'm hungry.”

Steve laughs, can't help it, and laughs even harder when James pretends to pout.

“I need to get you a notebook or something,” Steve says. “Then you can write them all down and we can go through them one at a time.”

James shakes his head, goes even pinker.

“Oh my God, can you imagine?” he says. “I'd literally actually explode from embarrassment.”

Steve reaches out across the table and covers James' hand with his, waits for James to look at him. 

“Think about it,” he says. “Just think about the kind of things you want to try. We've got safewords, go words, I'll check in with you along the way. Just consider it.”

James searches Steve's face for a moment or two, but he nods eventually. 

“Okay,” he says, and he resumes eating. 

Steve has a mouthful of soda when James says,

“You got any?” and he takes his time swallowing it while he thinks.

“Fantasies?” he clarifies, and James nods. “Hm...I don't know, I think...I think I more have things I like. Than fantasies. You know? My fantasies are old, they were dreams first.”

James regards him, interested but unsure, and Steve smiles as he thinks about it.

“I liked the idea of settling down with someone, waking up with them and going walking with them, things like that. You know? My fantasies were...to...” he sighs. “Be happy. Eventually. Even before I knew what I wanted. I thought how nice it would be to make love on a Saturday morning or hold hands when it's cold enough to see your breath or...you know. Sit together in the park. Things like that – boring things.”

“That's not boring,” James says. 

Steve raises an eyebrow.

“Well regardless, it's not the conversation we're having,” he says. “I'll end up reminiscing or gettin' maudlin. I don't have fantasies, not any more. They're all about people I would have spent my life with before. Peggy. Bucky. I used to have one about seeing her with her hair in curlers, I had one about kissin' him in the middle of the street. My desires were simpler then.”

“They ran deeper,” James says. “It's different – I understand.”

Steve draws a breath and waits out the twinge of sadness that still follows along during these conversations. It's always difficult not to dive down that rabbit hole, but he's learned that there's a time and place. Also, while it's okay to need that sometimes, he doesn't need it now. 

“As for the rest,” he says, “what I like is...I mean...I don't like excessive pain and I prefer to be hygienic about it but...I just...I like sex.” James' gaze flicks up when he says so, Steve sees. “I have lived a lot of my life in pain and a lot of my life alone. Wherever I can get a break from it, that's usually where I'd rather be.”

“You said you got friends who helped,” James says.

“Fuck buddies,” Steve answers, watching James _almost_ double-take. 

“Yeah,” he says instead, doing a very good job of keeping his voice steady. “How'd they help? Was it just the sex?” 

Steve shakes his head. 

“No,” he says. “It was things I like. Just...when I needed them. You know? I didn't always have a partner who was into what I was into.” 

“The things you're into, are they like deal-breaker things?” James says and Steve...Steve shakes his head.

“No,” he answers. “I thought they might be but the deal-breakers turned out to be other things.”

James frowns, properly this time. 

“So...” he says, and then seems to decide he wants to rephrase what he's going to say. “What sex things did you like that your partners didn't?” 

~

“Well I'm pretty definitely a switch,” Steve says, and James knows but it still makes him a little warmer to hear it, it still turns him on a little to have it confirmed. “I like things and I'll generally say yes to suggestions but I don't care if I'm giving or taking as long as I'm involved. I'm also like a runaway train sometimes, I know you know that. Somebody turns the key in my ignition, I can go for miles. I mean,” and he smiles self-deprecatingly, “we can _end up_ going for miles. Usually in very short bursts.”

It's such an honest thing to say that it James laughs in surprise – it's not a problem for either of them that Steve comes so fast. At least, it's not a problem for James if it's not a problem for Steve. Because, for one thing, Steve can go again immediately and, for another, it's not like it's his fault. This is a guy who can hear another person in a room from their breathing, a guy who knows when the air con is off by one degree. A guy who can tell before he opens the refrigerator that the milk isn't drinkable. He tunes most of it out, so he says, but for someone whose body has been made so sensitive, James supposes he's lucky Steve lasts at all. Still, it's nice to not be first to come every single time – and if he gets to watch Steve come three times in a row, he's never going to complain about that particular face or those particular expressions. 

“So, I mean, one of the problems is that I don't have a libido that's easily satisfied,” Steve is saying. “It's not a slight against whomever I'm with, it's just sometimes I have to-”

James rolls his eyes.

“Relax,” he says. “I figured you must jerk off a lot.”

Steve arches an eyebrow.

“Oh you did?”

“I've had more sex in this relationship already than like the first six months of any of my other relationships, and that's just while I'm with you. Like if you run that high all the time, how the hell would you get by without me if you didn't do a little self-assessment?”

“That's a terrible euphemism,” Steve says, smiling. “But also you're right, I forget sometimes how intelligent you are.”

“How foolish of you,” James answers, but then he bites his lip, trying to work up the nerve for the next part. “Can I...watch you sometime?”

Steve's eyebrows both go up this time, but he smiles in that surprised-but-pleased way.

“Sure,” he says, and then, “you're sure that's okay?”

James gives him a look.

“One of the funnest things I get to do is watch you enjoy yourself. Yeah, I'm sure that's okay. I mean, you're not doing it instead of fuckin' me, right? So I ain't gotta problem.”

Steve's smile turns warm and he squeezes James' fingers. 

“You know, I like datin' you.”

“Why, 'cause I don't mind fuckin' you and I don't care if you jerk off?”

Steve opens his mouth on a breath, as though he's contemplating a reply, his eyes narrowing a little, and James realizes abruptly that it's true, even if it's just one of the reasons.

“Oh my God, who the hell wouldn't fuck you if you asked them to?” he asks, incredulous. “Who the hell looks at an ass like yours and doesn't want in it?”

Steve winces as he laughs and lets go of James' hand.

“I'm serious, Steve, that person needs help. What kind of maniac doesn't wanna watch you writhe all over the sheets, huh?” 

He already knows the answer, of course, but Steve's obviously feeling better – whichever of Steve's exes wouldn't do what he liked, he doesn't seem as sad about it now as he would have last night. 

“So can _you_ give _me_ a list?” he asks, “things you like but you didn't get for a while?” 

“Ah well, see, I was lucky,” Steve says. “Those friends I told you about-”

“Your secret fuck buddies!” James says, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “If you told me you'd have to peg me, got it.”

Steve laughs.

“Pretty sure I come pre-equipped?” Steve says. “But yeah. My secret fuck buddies. They were willing to do a lot for me, let me do whatever I wanted. I could go to them when things got really bad.”

James frowns and looks back at him again.

“Really 'bad'?” 

Steve sets his cutlery down for this one, and James only doesn't because he's hoping they can do something after lunch, and the faster her finishes his own meal, the faster he can bug Steve about his. 

“I don't know if it's like this for everyone,” Steve says, “'cause I'm just one guy and, somehow, despite how open everybody is about sex these days, nobody actually wants to talk about what they feel about it. But, for me, I woke up alone. I had nobody but one very old lover, and she died a few years after I was reanimated, a good seventy years older when she did than when I'd kissed her goodbye. I had nobody, and I was stand-offish and confrontational because I was angry, and sad, and afraid. And I made friends, sure, of course I did, and I am so, so grateful for them. But I needed more. My body needed more, I _needed_ , and they saw.”

“Oh my God, you really meant 'together' didn't you?”

“Together?” Steve says.

“Yeah, like, these two fuck buddy buddies – they came at you together, right? Like, two on one?” Steve goes a little pink and James' imagination starts working overtime. “God that's so hot, you should tell me about it in great detail.”

Steve laughs a little.

“I will sometime,” he says. “But they taught me that it was...I mean it...felt like pain.”

James tilts his head a little.

“Pain?” he says.

“Wanting someone to touch me,” Steve answers. “Needing someone to just hold, someone to just...God, I don't know how long you've had to go without physical contact but by the time they got me into bed, I hadn't been hugged since the forties and I was starting to think my skin might try and crawl off my bones just to find someone to touch.”

James blinks at him. He's...That's....

“They gave me the physical connection I needed at a time when I couldn't figure it for myself,” he says. “All I had to do was ask, all I've ever had to do is ask, actually. If I need something like that, they give it. Outside a relationship anyway - I prefer monogamy.”

“Okay,” James says dryly. “How about you just tell me things you like? That specific enough for you?”

Steve doesn't seem to move for a moment or two, and then suddenly his toes are _very_ high on James' leg. James jumps, which is – from the twitch to Steve's lips – the point

“Respect your elders, kiddo.” 

James laughs.

“I mean, most of it's just standard vanilla stuff,” Steve says. “Y'know. I like gettin' fucked an' I like gettin' fingered, and I like toys and things, I like different positions and...not everybody's willing to do it. Not everybody likes toys, not everybody likes head, not everybody-”

“Who doesn't like head?” James says, pulling a face, and Steve smiles patiently. 

“Some people,” he says. “Some people, for example, don't like to cuddle after sex. The sex is enough and then they want a little breathing room. I don't. I'm happy to hang on forever. And the penetrative sex was a big one. I'm quite happy to do it myself but...”

“She wasn't interested,” James surmises. “Man. That blows.”

Steve shrugs. 

“She knew what she liked, and a lot of what _I_ liked wasn't it. But also, eventually, _I_ wasn't it, and I think that had a lot to do with it.”

“Listen, you want a couple fingers while I'm blowing you,” James says, getting another forkful, “you just gimme the word.”

Steve snorts, but he leans forward as he stands, leaning all the way across the table to kiss James' forehead. 

“You betcha,” he says. “Hurry up and finish that salad, you can tell me what you want me to do to you.”

James watches him go to the sink and shakes his head. He doesn't have enough time in the world to tell Steve what he wants Steve to do to him. Also, shit, how did Steve finish his meal first?

~

Steve pulls him over to the reading section once he's finished eating, lifts James into his lap and starts unwrapping the sheet slowly, asking the kind of questions that make James want to squirm. _What do you like most?_ and _what would you have me do if you could only ask one thing?_ and _what would you do if I told you that you could do anything you wanted to me?_

James plays with the open halves of Steve's shirt, pushes the cotton far enough that he can expose one of Steve's nipples, and then he kisses at it, licks at it because he wants to, runs his tongue over the metal chain. Steve indulges him for a little while, but then he sits James up and tells him to put his hands behind his back, and then he's holding both of James' wrists at the base of his spine while he jerks James off with his other hand and how is _that_ playing fair at all?

“What kind of fantasies?” Steve says. “Costumes? Roleplay? Toys?” 

James bites his lip and tries not to buck his hips, but Steve's fingers are strong and warm and he moves his hand slowly. James knows he's doing it on purpose.

“I,” he says, “ohn, fuck,” he hisses through his teeth, lets his head fall back for a moment. “Oh, can't you speed up?” 

Steve smiles up at him, beatific. 

“How about you tell me what I wanna know?” 

James sighs, frustrated, and chews his lip again. 

“I want everything,” he says, because he's pretty sure he's a switch, too, and then his breath hitches when Steve tightens his fingers again. “I wanna find new toys, I want to come as many times as I can, I want you to fuck me on every flat surface, I wanna tie you up and make you come and-”

His mouth drops open on a moan, it's hard to keep his eyes open.

“How 'bout that collar?” Steve says, and James has so many, so many images in his head.

“God, I want,” he says, “you'd look so good in,” _oh fuck_ , “isn't this against the Geneva convention?”

“Are you implying this is torture?” Steve answers. “Go on, what exctly would I look good in?” 

“Anything,” James breathes. “Bracelets and anklets and loincloths and collars and earrings and you could tie me to the bed- I could tie _you_ to the bed or you could spank me or- God, any scenario, I swear. I'll take it, I'll give it, I don't care. I'll try anything with you, I'll try anything.”

“Mmmmh,” Steve murmurs, starts mouthing James' chest and how does he coordinate like this? “So you're saying you like a little of everything?”

“Yes, yes, yeah,” James says, and it's true, but he's also saying yes a lot right now in the hopes that Steve will keep doing what he's doing. 

He doesn't increase the speed or pressure of his strokes, doesn't change the motion at all, he just keeps up the constant pace, a constant flow of pleasure through James' body.

“I'm trying to imagine how we'd pull off the college professor thing,” he says, and James already knows.

“Beard,” he says, “dye your hair or don't, jacket, shit like that – the leather elbow patches, oh my god, you'd be so hot in glasses-”

“Stranger in a bar?” because he's used the internet enough to know basic scenarios even if he's never actually thought about himself in those scenarios.

“Leather jacket, stubble,” James gasps, “you're drinkin' a whiskey, rode in on the bike-”

“How 'bout a suit?”

“Fuck, a _tux_...”

“You've got an answer for everything, don't you?” Steve says, smiling.

“I want you every way I can have you,” James asks and then, because he's a smart kid who learns, “please, Steve, I want you any way I can have you...”

Steve chuckles against his skin.

“Good,” he purrs. “ _That's_ how you ask my permission.”

***

They wind up lying on the couch, James between Steve's legs, the laptop on James' lap while they log into Babeland and Adam & Eve and a couple of others, and James wonders what they're looking for until Steve tells him to browse.

“Are we not looking for a...I don't know, a thing?” James asks, and Steve shakes his head, kisses the back of James'.

“Why don't you have a look at the things that interest you?” he says. “And I'll...take that on board?” 

James ducks his head a little and swallows hard, feels all the blood rush downwards even if he's not quite ready for a second round, and Steve just puts his arms around James' middle and settles his palms on James' bare stomach. Steve's hands are _huge_ and James still wants them lower anyhow.

He...

He has no idea where to begin. He looks at all sorts because there are all sorts to look at – there are different categories, different subsections...James starts with men's toys because they're both men, and gets pages full of prostate massagers and masturbators and cock sleeves and cock rings and...well...some of them look nice? He tries couples' toys next because there's two of them, right? They're a couple, so...

There are more cock rings, some weird-looking insertables, ropes, fluffy cuffs, a _toy warmer_ for like a hundred and fifty dollars, Jesus, who the fuck is spending a yard and a half on a warm wallet? None of them are interesting. He pauses a little on a nice velvet choker but it's not as nice as a collar and he's got one of those with another in the mail.

There's a sliding ad at the top of the page about best sex toys to use on a male partner, but James clicks on that and finds more masturbators, more cock rings, and another massager. The same for the gay section, but with a couple more dildos. Big ones. 

He wrinkles his nose, it's not what he's after. 

He chews the inside of his lip for a moment, considers what he's doing and whether he really wants to do anything else but this is Steve, Steve's asked him specifically to do this. This isn't him messing around on his laptop hoping his mother won't walk in, this is him, naked but for a bedsheet, his boyfriend wrapped around him, using Steve's laptop to find something to use on each other in the long term and probably end up aroused in the short term.

“If you don't like something,” Steve says against his ear, “and you're comfortable saying so, tell me why.”

“Cock rings,” James says immediately. “What's the point?” 

Steve chuckles softly. 

“Not a problem you've ever had, I take it?” he says, and James feels a bit like an idiot.

“Right,” he says. “Sorry.”

“Don't apologize,” Steve says. “Na- uh- I was asked to wear one once or twice, by my fuck-buddy buddies. But that was for a specific reason. And they had one that vibrated, too – used to put my hands back and make me wear it until I asked them to stop.”

James, abruptly, knows exactly what he's talking about – he hasn't used the kind of language you might need if you wanted to, say, search for it online, but James has seen people online do it - wear vibrating cock rings at the frenulum to force an orgasm, wear a rubber cinch around the whole kit and caboodle to make edging last longer. Hell, Steve got him to wear one of those adjustable ones before, but he's suddenly thinking about other things. 

“They edged you?” he says, because wow, if he could ever have wished to be a fly on the wall...

“A little more interested in cock rings now, are we?” Steve says, and James can hear the smirk in his voice but doesn't care at all.

“Yeah,” he says, and types it into the site's search bar. 

_Vibrating cock ring_ and opens the first one that's a simple ring with a bullet vibe into a new tab. He also searches _adjustable cock ring_ and opens one of them into a new tab because, yeah, that would be useful. Even if they don't buy anything (even if Steve doesn't), James hasn't treated himself to a new toy in a while and likes to window-shop, _and_ it'll be good to show Steve so he knows what James is talking about if he-

Oh. _Oh,_ that's the point. Okay. 

Okay, that's, yeah, okay. He can do that – cool, awesome. He looks up _clover clamps_ next, because he loves the engineering of them. Steve makes a small sound, and shifts a little, but James opens a new tab, like before.

“Couldn't get on with those,” Steve says, “I'm too sensitive for 'em. Still, if you've never tried them, I still have them somewhere – we can give it a go, see how you do.”

“You like nipple clamps?” James says and, yeah, he's going to be hard pretty soon.

“Yeah, the usual little...” he raises his hand in James periphery, makes a pinching motion, “...ones. Occasionally.”

James tries not to think on that for too long, considering how Steve behaves when he just uses his mouth. If he starts thinking about it, he'll never stop.

So James looks for the things he likes, some of the things he has, and then some of the things that look really nice when they catch his eye. He looks for a gag and winds up finding bondage tape, a really nice looking collar that looks like a shirt collar, a flogger, and something called a pocket paddle which...okay, is a leather paddle about the size of James' hand and it appeals to him in a way he's never really considered before. But then, Steve's hands appeal to him like that, too. He opens it in a new tab anyway and then looks at the bondage tape.

“What are we looking for?” Steve asks.

“If you can put it on your mouth,” James answers. “I have a ball gag but it hurts my teeth, I prefer it this way.”

Steve doesn't say anything to that but...well, James can feel that he's not unaffected.

“Yeah, it says it sticks to itself, not to you.”

“Just vinyl, isn't it?” Steve says eventually, and James nods. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Nobody does over the mouth gags any more. You used to see those.”

Steve sets his chin on James' shoulder. 

“What, like just literally nothing in, nothing out, just a piece of whatever over your mouth?” 

“Yeah,” James nods. “Sometimes with laces or a buckle. This stuff'll do though!”

Steve laughs, tips his head back again as James clicks on something else and rolls his eyes.

“You don't need massage oil and blindfolds, who pays for that stuff?”

“No?” Steve asks, but he sounds happy about it.

“Baby oil and a two dollar sleep mask, isn't that good enough? Earplugs too! Just get 'em from like a Duane Reade or something.”

James looks at ropes, a couple of cuffs, one or two variations on nipple clamps that neither of them like, a couple of vibrators that don't look as fun as the ones they've already had. There are a couple he likes, though – one of them is a plug with a cock ring attached, that _vibrates_. He likes the look of that one – likes the idea of putting it on and getting hard and not being able to take it off until he's come. (He'd be able to take it off, of course, but it'd be more fun to pretend he couldn't.)

At one point he mentions edging and the aneros again, maybe even slightly tells Steve about the interrogation fantasy he has, and Steve says,

“Well if you want to tie me up and mean it, I can talk to my friends. Ropes don't always work so we had something made when they wanted to restrain me. They should still have 'em.”

James is pretty sure this is the best news he's ever heard.

He looks at sexy clothes – there are zip up jock straps (no) and assless chaps ( _no_ ) and skin-tight shirts (yes) and complicated leather harnesses ( _yes!_ ) and Steve grills him about what he likes and what he doesn't (can you call it being grilled if you're literally falling over your own tongue to say the things you're saying?) but then, though, then he remembers sounds. The sites he's on doesn't have them – he has to look for them specifically. And he figures, in for a penny, right? So he goes back to Google and searches _vibrating penis sound_ and then goes to town opening new tabs and searching new sites. There are _'recommended items'_ and _'Customers Who Bought This'_ sections and _'based on your search history'_ categories and...

James ends up painfully hard and, when he says so, Steve lasts about five more minutes before he tells James to put the laptop down. Then he reaches around and jerks James off while James rubs back against him, and they both decide on another shower when they're done.

***

By the time Steve's making dinner, James has told him enough to fill a warehouse. If it had been an interrogation, the Government of James would be in ruins. If he'd been a secret organization, the Federal Bureau of James would be dissolved. James has told him _everything_ , including far too much detail about that one about pumping Commander Rogers for information, and the one about decking Steve out in studded leather straps and shiny silver rings.

Thing is, too, that James would happily do it backwards, as well. He wants to take Steve to pieces with the aneros but he also wants to come so many times that he cries. He wants take care of a battle-bruised Commander and be rescued from the rubble by a Steve in shining armor. 

He would absolutely, however, be just fine if they never do anything different. James likes his fantasies. He's carried them with him for years but, really, when it comes down to it, he's exactly the same as Steve – he likes the idea of settling down with someone, waking up with them and going walking with them. Being happy. 

And being happy, with a man like Commander Rogers? He can't think of anything easier. It's so easy, in fact, he's already doing it. Watching Steve move around the kitchen makes him feel content in a way he hasn't really felt before, and he welcomes the change.

“Hey, how come you cook so much?” James asks, and Steve rolls one shoulder, standing over the stove.

“When I was a kid, nothin' we could afford had any flavor. Everything now is so sweet,” he says. “It _all_ is. But it's less like eating candy bars if I buy the ingredients and cook from scratch, so that's what I do. If I want bread that isn't sweet, I make the bread. I want breadcrumbs that aren't sweet, I make the bread, I make the breadcrumbs. You know?”

James blinks at him.

“Everything?” he says. 

Steve glances over his shoulder at James and then goes back to putting dinner together.

“Guarantee you can't tell with the normal food,” he says. “But I can. Never really got used to it. I mean, I can eat almost anything if I put my mind to it. I'm usually hungry enough, and the serum will take what it needs. One time, we were caught out and we didn't have enough rations to go around so I just...ate grass. You know.”

“You ate _grass_!?” James says. 

“Eh, some grass, some other stuff. There were plants around, Monty - Uh, Monty Falsworth - knew what was edible. Clover, mallow, dock...nettles, although not raw because ow. You learn. I had to learn. But I prefer to cook proper meals, and I prefer to do so with as many basic ingredients as I can. You know how sometimes you eat a pasta sauce and it tastes like glue?”

James nods.

“Yeah?”

“Well I've eaten glue and there's not much difference-”

“-What the fuck-”

“-no, just y'know, flour and water but I was- it had honey in too, actually, I have no idea what the idea behind it was. Maybe it was a face mask or something, I'unno, But yeah, if you get hungry enough – and the serum'll make me hungry enough – you'll eat what's there. I once ate just a stick of butter-” he makes a chomp noise to illustrate.

“-God you're fuckin' weird-”

“-used to suck on stock cubes if I hadn't had enough salt or whatever too. Now, these days, I got supplements and things. Didn't have 'em fresh outta the ice, people just assumed I could eat my fill and have done with it but the serum never liked that. So I get pills and powders and shit like that. Tony made a whole line of 'em – you know the Vita-mins line that Stark Industries did?”

“That's you?”

“Nah, that's Tony,” Steve says. “But he got into it for me. He's a good guy, much as he tries to convince everyone otherwise. Do me a favor and don't tell him you know.”

~

Steve has made chicken katsu ramen for dinner. He turns the lights low and puts on soft music, and serves dinner at the table, just the two of them. He plonks down a can of A&W cream soda for them each, too, because even though everything has sugar in it in this century,

“I like to indulge anyway.”

It is delicious. _And_ James has a half day to take on Monday. 

So they spend all the time they want on 'dessert.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to hans bekhart, Midnightstreet, and ExtraneousAdverbs again, for US phrasing, branding, and Google information ;)
> 
>  **Spoiler alert:** If you'd like to know the dates in this series, here's [a link to a timeline](https://66.media.tumblr.com/aac4be76b217f7b6ea54592e0a76d168/tumblr_inline_pg5mcewTA21rckout_500.png) of the first ten parts, with a short summary of each part. **Spoilers for parts 1-10, though.**


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